A Dangerous Game
by devilsalt
Summary: Sequel to A Dangerous Thing. The Knight-Captain was a changed man, and Astrid Amell, she was an apostate. Their forbidden past would be a dangerous tool in the wrong hands, but Cullen must know why she came to Kirkwall. As for the mage, she has been both haunted and hunted since that fateful night she escaped. Everything has changed, but has their feelings? Rated T for now.
1. The Forbidden Prologue

**AUTHOR NOTE— At long last, my sequel for _A Dangerous Thing. _Title may change, just as a heads up.**

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><p><strong><em>THE FORBIDDEN PROLOGUE<em>**

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><p>The torrential downpour had left him cold, confused, and promptly seeking shelter in the Chantry as he came upon it. Two towering doors creaked anciently at his entrance, an intruding draft leaving candles without a flame. Knight-Captain Cullen walked precariously towards the first terrace—distracted—his thoughts carrying him past someone who was already here. He didn't notice—couldn't notice—the night's mirage of rain and mist had played games with him his entire shift, leaving him deep in thought. It started at the gallows. Across the courtyard, through the storm's first drizzle, was a familiar silhouette that could not exist—not in Kirkwall, not in this life. Cullen stepped into the candlelight, welcoming their warmth, however weak it may be. He was tired, beyond exhausted with the new recruits he was assigned, and the rain was merely taking advantage of that. <em>It was nothing.<em>

Cullen mentally shook away any lingering thoughts and began pulling his leather gloves off, fingers numb from being soaked to the bone. He noticed then, a shadow moving from the corner of his eye, another seeking shelter from this dreadful rain. "Chapel is closed tonight," he authoritatively spoke, mindless to the patron and rubbing his hands together. "Any peace you wish to make with the Maker can wait until tomorrow," he finished, voice heavy with sovereignty.

"I'm afraid I can't slip into the fade tonight."

A coldness crawled up the templar's neck, deft and hair-raising like a spider. Suddenly the Chantry was shrinking, the elaborate decor poor in comparison to Kirkwall's lavish tapestries and effigies of Andraste. Pews, worn and creaky, sprung before him. Cullen's palm warmed from the burning torch he abruptly carried towards the front of the chamber. Someone still remained in the Chantry, doused in shadow as he rounded the first pew. "Excuse me! The Chantry is closed!" he bellowed, outmatched by a rumble of thunder. Silence met him. Frustrating silence. "I said, the Chantry is closed—"

"I—I'm sorry Ser." A young man cowered under the templar's shadow. "I'm afraid I can't see through the rain tonight, I've gotten all mixed around...haven't been in Kirkwall long Ser," the man stammered, eyes pleading for him to accept his excuse.

He was in the Chantry again—Kirkwall's Chantry.

Cullen abruptly noticed his fist tangled in the man's collar and recoiled, recollecting himself. "Very well," glancing down, he took notice to the strangling grip he had on his sword. "I expect you to quickly find your way home once the rain has let up, understood."

The refugees gaze had wandered to the templar's sword as well. "Yes of course, thank you very much Ser!" The Knight-Captain acknowledged the stranger with a nod and left hastily for the door.

In a moment of weakness, Cullen allowed thoughts of _her_ to command him, and his weariness summoned old long forgotten memories. The templar was no stranger to these illusions, but it had been a while since he had visited this one. He had long suppressed any memories of her, locked away and never to be disturbed again. The rain and the cold had made his mind weak, but devoted practice and training had made him stronger than his previous life. Knight-Commander Meredith taught him to be a better templar since his arrival, a better man. Allowing the rain and the mist to play tricks with his mind was beneath him. He wouldn't allow her to cloud his judgement ever again.

He reached the door, a flare of lightning passed through the growing crack in the door, and stopped him in his tracks. There was a clatter of thunder and lightning again, illuminating someone who sought to enter.

Blood red tresses. A peak of scarred skin. Parted ruby lips. Dark blue eyes. All so foreign to Cullen, yet so familiar, and standing before him.

"Ah, shit—" she turned heel and immediately began the parade down the Chapel steps.

Instinct took over and Cullen followed after her, "Stop!"

She ignored him, taking two steps at a time and quickly gaining distance.

He jumped the last gathering of steps, soaking his boots to the knee, grip back on the hilt of his blade. "Stop right there mage!" he called through the rain.

The world suddenly felt very still and timeless, with Cullen waiting for her to turn and face him. All the while wondering—praying—it was another illusion. She turned, streaks of her red hair clung to the curve of her face, over white scars. The Knight-Captain froze. His sword-hand trembled. It was _her_. And her face was contorted in an expression he had never seen before—not on _his_ Astrid. The fearful and gentle woman he knew was not standing before him any longer. She faced him fully and marched towards him, stopping herself. "Mage!?" she scowled, snickering before turning back to continue her escape.

"The Order dictates!" Knight-Captain Cullen regained himself, matching her scowl and drawing his sword.

Cullen saw her flinch.

"You draw your sword on me?" Astrid cried, as her head twitched and her body crippled over, clutching at her head.

Signs Cullen knew too well. A part of him, he thought long gone, drew the Knight-Captain to approach her. Wondering why she was grunting in agony and barely keeping her footing. "You're a mage," he repeated, "and The Order dictates—"

Astrid recoiled from his outstretched hand, "Do. Not. Touch. Me."

The Knight-Captain drew back himself, careful of the sudden sword that glittered at his throat as lightning tore through the sky again.

"I knew you would be a changed man after everything you—we've endured, by coming here. But I did not think you would be a different man."

It was his turn to scoff, "And you an apostate." Cullen reflected her sword away and kept it raised, angled at her, "Don't force my hand."

"Do not force mine," Astrid repeated and raised her blade again, pushing the point into the guard at his neck. "Believe it or not—templar—it was not my choice."

He had only seen her wield a blade once, back at the Circle and against a blood mage. Then, she was a damaged mage on the brink of madness, barely able to balance herself holding a sword with two hands. Now Astrid was as balanced as an Orlesian dancer, grip strong and confident. However, turmoil still stirred behind the mage's eyes. She was just as changed as he, and she had the scars to prove it. The face he once watched longingly from a distance had long sinewy marks along her left cheek, now white and smooth from healing. They matched the ones he knew she had on her hands.

She stiffened when he moved, "Don't—"

Cullen yanked on her wrist, pulling her closer, but her sword away. Astrid fought him as much as she could, knuckles white as she pushed against his strong grip. She was twitching again, head swaying from side to side as she avoided his gaze. The templar touched her face. His calloused thumb brushing over the ridge of her scarring, feeling the heat of her skin seep into his cold fingers. At last he forced her to look at him, "Why did you come here Astrid, to Kirkwall of all places?" She refused to meet his eyes again. "Why?" he bellowed, "You know the the Commander's reputation here—"

Suddenly the mage had head-butted him and threw the templar away from her. He clattered to the ground and noticed relief cross her face, but only briefly. Her brows furrowed together and a hand touched her chin, wiping blood away. Astrid stumbled back and glanced at Cullen one last time. She replaced her sword into a leather scabbard at her waist and turned to disappear.

"Wait! Astrid. Wait—" The Knight-Captain scattered to his feet, but she was but a faint shadow through the rain.

He looked at his sword and saw red.

Cullen held his blade in the rain until the blood was gone and then found himself just standing there, watching the direction she had left in. The templar in him wanted to pursue the apostate—Astrid—bring her to the Gallows, to the Knight-Commander. However, what little remained of his former self could not condemn her to this 'prison'. The Templars here were different, even more corrupt. He would not chance having her at the mercy of their hands—or his. Their past was dangerous here. Being in Kirkwall, he has seen the punishments for such a dangerous relationship; witnessed it first hand on several occasions. If he wasn't careful, it could be Astrid and him.

"Why..." he whispered, "Why are you here?"


	2. Three Reasons

**Author's Note: This was originally the first chapter, but I wanted something to reflect the first chapter from A Dangerous Thing, thus this became chapter two. I'm excited to have Astrid interact with the companions of DAII, especially Hawke. As I am working on this, I will be going back and editing A Dangerous Thing. Some things will change a little and some might change a lot, so keep an eye out if you are interested, and I'll be making announcements of any updates on my page. Anyhow, enjoy, and please let me know what you think :)**

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><p><em><strong>THREE REASONS<strong>_

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><p>At last she reached the tavern—The Hanged Man—marked by an effigy of its namesake. She could hear the clinking of drinks and drunken merriment, a familiar laugh. She stepped to the doorway, pulled back the hood of her cloak and shook her red hair free. The guardsman she had tricked into escorting her here barely hid a gasp, but Astrid wasn't insulted or upset. How else does one react to someone with a terribly scarred face? She performed her entrancing smile on him again, perturbing one from him. With her thumb, she wiped the blood from her chin, "You'll never see me again Ser, or speak of me to anyone. Go back to your post." Before he could snap from his trance, she disappeared through the tavern door.<p>

A stranger, yet no one noticed. She was smacked with the smell of ale and stew. A drunken patron stumbled in front of her, winking before running into a table. Astrid most definitely was going to miss the festive taverns and wines of Antiva. She sighed and scanned the main room, full of Kirkwallers seeking someplace warm and dry. This was the sort of piss poor place her companion liked, and with their line of business it was easy to blend in and find others who were the same. As she wandered past the entrance, a voice carried over the rest. The only other female voice besides the barmaid currently cutting off a drunk man. Astrid sought out the source, until finally she found her. At a table, a flagon of ale in one hand and cards in the other, sitting with two others, was none other than Captain Isabela.

Relief flooded through Astrid.

The pirate didn't even notice her approach, instead worrying about flagging down the barmaid with her blue bandana. However the others did, which turned out be an elf and a man dressed in very shiny armor. The elf gave her a strong brooding glare as she stopped at the head of the table, slamming her hand on the hard surface. "Castillion sends his regards," Astrid smirked leaning against the table. From the corner of her eye, the elf was reaching for something, but was stopped immediately by Isabela's surprise.

"Astrid!" she sang, "Corff! Another round for me and one for my friend here!" Isabela finished her drink and forgot about her hand, tossing her cards on the table. "I guess this explains why none of Castillion's men have been sent after me of lately," she smirked, the gold piercing below her lip glittering in the tavern's candlelight.

Corff brought their drinks and Astrid took a seat across from Isabela, taking a swill from her ale before choking. Oh yes, she was going to miss Antivan wine terribly so. Her captain chuckled and her original companions looked on curiously. The one in the shiny armor was handsome and refined, with groomed hazelnut hair and the most admirable blue eyes. Then there was the elf, who continued to stare daggers in her direction. Astrid stared back. He had unusual frosty hair, but his markings made him different. "And if he had, you make it awfully easy to find you," she answered, forcing another gulp of the ale down, "but I reckon your fondness for duels would by why that is so."

"Only a friend would know that of you Isabela," commented the human, a genuine smile flashed her way. "I am Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven. Were you a part of Isabela's crew?"

She smiled and ultimately gave up on drinking, "For a time. We met in Denerim and traveled together, before I departed to settle matters." Isabella nodded knowingly.

"And what matters might that be?"

Astrid turned to the elf. _He knows. _She twitched uncomfortably and felt her scars itch beneath her gloves. "Personal matters," she retorted, giving him a warning gaze. He looked ready to snap back at her, but she stopped him. "And speaking of matters, how goes finding this Relic of ours?"

Isabela scoffed and let out an exaggerated sigh, "Anyone who says they know anything, end up knowing nothing, but—" She threw her hand up before the redhead could say anything more, "I have a good feeling we will have it back in due time."

"I do hope so, it took an awful lot of persuasion to get Castillion off our backs," Astrid answered, reminiscing.

After the Siren's Call had run a ground at the Wounded Coast, Astrid knew it was only a matter of time before the Antivan merchant would be sending for their heads for loosing the Relic. So she left Isabela in the Free Marches, glad to find herself far away from the place, and made the journey back into Antiva—which was easy considering she was not as infamous as Isabela was. However, by the time she had reached the city, Castillion had already sent his trusted henchman Hayder, and clearly he had failed. The Antivan merchant was ready to send more of his raiders after the former captain, but Astrid managed to swoop in and convince him otherwise. It took a lot of persuading—the sort of _swaying _that could only be taught from her pirate friend and a former member of the Crows.

The pirate captain chuckled, "I bet."

Astrid smirked, ready to make a witty comment, but Isabela's focus has wandered to the front of The Hanged Man. "They're back!" she shouted excitedly, almost more so than when the redhead walked through the door.

"But where is Hawke?" the elf inquired, leaving the pirate to sink back into her chair.

After templars and Cullen, suddenly there were three reasons why she shouldn't be in Kirkwall.

His voice met her first, absent of the usual charm and wit she remembered. His presence was different too—foreboding—making her scars throb unbearably. Astrid could hear mumbling and murmuring, her name maybe, but it was all drowned out by the voice in her head. _He left us. _She pinched her thigh, removing her 'second voice' and distracting herself from the shadow at her back. If she turned, he would see her. If she stood, she would draw unwanted attention to herself—especially from the elf. Astrid for the moment, was trapped.

"Sorry Rivaini, Hawke had to go home and give his poor mother the bad news." Astrid didn't know if someone's voice could be anymore smoother than his, and it momentarily distracted her form searching out an exit.

However, the mage's attention returned to her captain, who suddenly was uncharacteristically quiet and upset. "Oh," she finally piped, "No treasure?" Isabela was herself again, reaching for Astrid's abandoned drink and gulping it down.

"Plenty treasure," came that voice again from just behind her, "it's Carver."

"Carver?" Sebastian joined in.

"It was the taint—" _he_ was talking now, moving around the table. "If I hadn't come along and found those Wardens, well...as long as he survives the Joining, Hawke won't have worse news for his mother."

Astrid saw shadows move around the table. First came a dwarf, with a tenor of a bard, who immediately gave her a curious once over. Then came Anders.

The mage was still the same if you caught him in the right light, but time had aged and tired him. The familiar smirk and earring was gone, replaced with an exhausted frown and dirt. Astrid remembered him as he was at the Circle. His help prior to her Harrowing. Their romance. His escape. She never expected to see him again.

Anders rubbed his face in his hands as he sat down, across from her, oblivious. She took the moment to slid from her seat and make way to the exit. And she would have gotten away with it if it weren't for a drunken pirate.

"Astrid! Where you going, you just got here?" Isabela shouted after her.

The mage froze and cursed under her breath as she heard a moment of surprise behind her.

"Astrid..." Anders voice carried over the commotion that still surrounded them, "Astrid Amell?" She only turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "It—it is you!" he stood and came around the table towards her. She immediately stepped out of reach, feeling uneasy in his direct presence. "I had heard what happened at the Circle, but I never thought you'd end up here—" he touched her arm and immediately they both recoiled. Astrid noticed his eyes spark unusually and the voice in her head was growling angrily. Anders, curious, reached for contact again.

She replied by swinging, her knuckles colliding with Anders' long narrow nose. He fumbled back, knocking over a chair and sprawled across the tavern floor. Silence filled the room.

"I taught her that!" Isabela sang proudly.

Astrid rubbed her fist. The Maker sure had a sense of humor tonight. She inhaled and cooled her flaring temper, "Do not touch me." Anders was trying to stop the bleeding in his nose, his face wide-eyed and shocked. The same look Cullen had given her. Astrid stumbled back, anxiety hitting her like a bolt of lightning. She didn't say anything else, but left The Hanged Man—fleeing for the second time that night.

Before the door swung close, the dwarfs voice carried after her. "I smell a story."


	3. Old Friends

**Author's Note: Sorry that this took so long to update, for the life of me I couldn't think of where to go with the next chapter. But recently the story has been getting some love and attention from readers, so I finally sat down and got back to work. I'm pretty satisfied with the chapter, I think my only dilemma is whether to have Cullen and Astrid's POVS either split into separate chapters or do as I did here? Let me know what you guys think. My plan is to introduce Hawke in the next chapter, so hopefully that goes well and is a sooner update than this was. Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>OLD FRIENDS<strong>_

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><p>She was yelling, but Astrid couldn't hear herself. Frigid, howling wind was deafening as she stood at the end of her world. Lake Calenhad was in turmoil beneath her feet as the dock swayed against the current, a strong hand all that was helping in keeping her balanced. "Go to Kirkwall—" she heard him say. Astrid stared at him surprised, she would not get far once the templars got their hands on her phylactery. The mage opened her mouth to protest, instead her savior pulled her into his chest and pressed his lips to hers. Astrid fell still and her mind blank, unable to remove herself from the templar's embrace. Then, as quickly as he had kissed her, the templar was pushing her off the dock. Astrid's breath left her as she sank into the black water, sinking into the darkness...<p>

Astrid woke, fighting for breath and tangled in an unfamiliar blanket. The bed she had slept in was ornate and warm, tucked under a window that was streaming morning light. Her heart was still pounding from the dream and she could feel the sweat about her brow. A sigh passed through her dry lips. She should have never come to Kirkwall.

"You're awake." Movement following the voice surprised Astrid, who instinctively reached for the blade normally at her hip. However, the sword was missing and a further stretch down her leg revealed her dagger too was removed. She turned, prepared to use magic as a last resort, but instead was momentarily relieved to see a familiar face. In the doorway was the man from last night, the one with the shiny armor. His name had left her, but she recalled him being much friendlier than the elf.

The mage stretched and gave the man a pondering glare, "How did I get here?" Rubbing her temple, Astrid tried to remember the night prior. She had smuggled herself into Kirkwall, knocked skulls with Cullen, manipulated a templar, and punched Anders. Anything after that was a fog.

"Found you sleeping outside the Chantry," his foreign tongue rolled beautifully through his words, adding more allure to his handsome features. The man wandered closer to the bed and perched himself on the end. "I figured it might be warmer inside."

"Wait—" Astrid's head began to pound and her whole body grew fidgety. "Did you say the Chantry?" The man barely had a moment to nod in response before she had flung herself from the bed. She glanced desperately around the room, hoping to find her missing weapons before making a quiet exit from the building.

"Something wrong?" the helpful man inquired, watching her with intense interest.

The mage stilled and sunk back into the bed, touching the dry blood on her chin and careful not to break, "I should never have come to Kirkwall."

It was an hour later that Astrid found her way back to The Hanged Man. Sebastian—his name came back to her after they had a chat about where her weapons went—kindly led her the way, all the while determined to sway her averse opinion of the Chantry. His love and devotion for the cloth was almost intoxicating, almost. However, the mage felt herself involuntary cringe as the man went on and on. She had a few fond memories of the Chantry—some of which did not belong in a place of prayer—but there was one that stood above the rest and would forever be embedded in the scars that marked her body. Astrid had tried to go to the Chantry last night to seek comfort from the rain and dark thoughts following her about, instead she had left more irked than before and ended up punching Anders.

"I'm sure last night was a bit of a shock for you, running into so many familiar faces at once," Sebastian noticed the redhead's disinterest and chose to change the subject.

Astrid scoffed, "Isabela was a planned surprise. Anders—not so much." She followed him down the steps into Lowtown, careful not to trip on the loose stones.

"Ah yes," he laughed, surprising her when his accent was evident then too. "And your templar friend too."

They were at the door to The Hanged Man, her fingers curled around the handle. Astrid turned, trying to hide the surprise in her face. "He must have saw me bring you inside," Sebastian continued, "Although you were deep in sleep, he asked to see you safe inside. I hope you don't mind." He turned and saw her gaze lingered in the distance, fingers touching her chin again. "Astrid?" He waited, hoping for a response, but instead was met with the continued silence. So, he cleared his throat and politely excused himself, "I should return to the Chantry, Grand Cleric Elthina is expecting my help with a sermon later. Perhaps we can continue later on."

"Thank you," she barely whispered. Without meeting his gaze, she slipped into the tavern.

The Hanged Man wasn't as lively as the night before. The few patrons left were nursing hangovers and snoozing loudly at their tables. Astrid scanned the room again for her captain, taking note of everyone in the room. That is when she spotted the smooth talking dwarf, sitting alone and waving her his way. The redhead was naturally hesitant, taking careful strides towards him, keeping an eye on the exit. He was speaking with the bar-maiden when she reached his table, contemplating where to sit. "Sit wherever you like, my lady," the dwarf suddenly said, "I don't bite."

Astrid sat beside him, with a clear view of the exit. "Isabela is not here."

The dwarf chuckled and picked apart his bread, "Oh she's here." She turned to him, interest piqued, but arms now crossed tightly. "She's past out in my bed, wouldn't leave me alone about Hawke. And then, was going on and on about how she made a woman out of you." He was laughing again, although it was probably because Astrid's face had gone red. "Give her a couple minutes Red, she'll come stumbling out," he went on to wager. The waitress came back, putting a plate of food in front of Astrid. She eyed it cautiously, but the dwarf only smiled and continued to eat himself.

She couldn't remember the last time she had had a decent meal. Castillion liked to spoil her with lavish clothing and fancy foods, but as soon as she had set sail back to Kirkwall, she had to resort to piss poor stews and sea water. "Thank you—I never caught your name," she stumbled, savoring the tavern food more than she should of.

"Varric Tethras m'lady," he answered, toasting to his name. Astrid joined too, taking a long swig of the terrible ale. "So elves huh?"

Every drop of ale came sputtering from her mouth, drawing awake a fellow in the corner. Astrid wiped her mouth, listening to the dwarf laugh again.

"Isabela!"

The Siren's Call's captain was suddenly stumbling down stairs that lead to the back rooms, rubbing her eyes. She was without her usual thigh-high leather boots, hair her was wild and untamed, and somehow a gold earring had gone missing in the night. Isabela looked from Varric, who was choking from laughter, to the furious redhead. "Whatever it is, I had nothing to do with it," the pirate grumbled through a yawn, keeping out of reach from Astrid. She slinked into the bench and stole the mage's cup of ale. "Unless it was illegal and fun," she quickly added.

"How much did you tell him last night?" Astrid interrogated, dark cobalt eyes narrowed at her captain.

Isabela paused and turned to Varric, "Where did I stop last night?"

"Ah, I think it was right after the demon told you to crash your ship into the Wounded Coast," Varric answered nonchalantly. At some point he had pulled out a journal, pointing at the last page covered in scribbles. "Or was it because you were drunk—"

_He probably knows now..._

Astrid felt the length of her spine go cold and her mouth went dry.

"—so...everything," the pirate answered, mouth full of what was left of her companion's breakfast.

Isabela's voice was distant, almost a ghostly whisper compared to the throaty laugh in her head. She felt her fist shake and moved to still it with her other hand, hoping to be unnoticed. However, the dwarf was sharp and took note of the redhead's change in demeanor. He cleared his throat and smiled at the mage, "Don't worry Red, all your secrets are safe with me." Astrid couldn't remember the last time she heard a genuine voice, it was strangely comforting, and brought pause to speech in her head. Partially relieved, the mage relaxed and weakened her glare. "Just between you and me though, what was it like to punch Anders in the nose?"

She smiled.

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><p>The Knight-Captain was awake early, at the very moment of dawn, but could not bring himself to leave the warmth of his bed. He was expected to start investigating the disappearances of some of the recruits, but Cullen was rather distracted. He had spent the night tossing and turning through one sultry dream into another, some he wasn't even aware his imagination was capable of. Culled sighed loudly, hoping the baths were empty. He needed to drown himself in cold water, and soon. It all came back to her. Astrid. Seeing her again was an unusual feeling. Time had finally hardened him into the templar he was meant to be, the Commander had entrusted him to be her captain. He was well respected and admired, he finally understood what it meant to be a templar. But seeing her, living and breathing before him, Cullen was ready to risk it all just to hold her again. Even a handshake would suffice.<p>

"The Order dictates..." he whispered sadly, hiding his face with his arm, angry at himself for attempting to drag her to the Gallows. Cullen didn't know why she was here, free of Kinloch Hold and wielding a sword, but what remained of the man that she once knew didn't care. She survived the Blight, she survived a voyage across the Waking Sea, and was now surviving Kirkwall.

He recalled mindlessly returning to the Chantry before his shift was over, hopeful he would come across her again. Cullen made an excuse to convince himself it was okay to re-walk this part of Hightown, to take the grand steps up to the Chantry and make his entrance. Warmth met him again, as well as silence. A part of him prayed to see her sitting there, waiting—but there was no one. The Chantry was empty. Cullen stopped himself from sighing with disappointment and turned to leave, he should not have been chasing ghosts anyways. But then a light caught his eye through an open door upstairs._  
><em>

Cullen ascended the stairs, eyes kept on the flickering light. And there she was.

He carefully approached her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Astrid was deep asleep. Cullen gazed at her, both longingly and with guilt. The years had matured her, obvious through the deep cut in her robe, exposing tempting flesh and scars that went along the curve of her breast. She bared many new scars, too many new scars that had Cullen curling his fingers into fists—he didn't want to know how she came about them. She no longer looked the part of a mage—naive to the world—but that of a warrior. The templar carefully sat on the bed beside her and reached for her. His fingers traced a thick healing scar that ran the center of her chest. Mages don't carry battle wounds. Cullen gritted his teeth. He wanted to feel her skin again, to run his fingers through her hair, and touch those barely parted lips. For once, he was grateful for the dreadful gloves he wore.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry for leaving you."

The templar forced himself to stand, to walk away from the woman he he could never forget. Begrudgingly, he ripped his eyes from her and stepped quietly back into the hall—where he was immediately met with a Chantry Brother.

"Captain, what brings you here so late?" Cullen began stutter and stumble through his words, nothing audible coming out. The Brother looked at Astrid and back to him, "Do you know her ser?"

Cullen met his gaze and caught his nerves, "We are old friends."

Without another word, Cullen had left the Chantry and made a straight path to the barracks, and had a racing mind since then. A sigh left his lips, he was trying to forget the contours of her scar he still felt on his fingers and ache he'd been ignoring since returning last night. The Knight-Captain rolled from his mattress and stretched, moving his focus back to the day's tasks. _Visit the Blooming Rose for answers...ask the other recruits about suspicious activity...cold bath.__  
><em>


	4. The Reunion

**Author's Note: Finally is all I got to say. This took way to long to write up. I partially blame the new Dragon Age consuming my free time, but it is only a small excuse. I really want to get this story going so that I can get Astrid into the setting of Inquisition, so hopefully I can start updating more regularly instead of these months of absence. Anyways, enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>THE REUNION<strong>_

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><p>Adjusting to Kirkwall was no menial task.<p>

Without Hawke—whom she had yet to meet—the ragtag group of companions often spent their time drinking and playing cards at the tavern. Varric proved himself to be an avid storyteller, often surrounded by patrons hanging on his every word or scribbling away in a book with Isabela reading over his shoulder. Astrid would catch them glancing her way every once in a while, careful not to make eye contact. Clearly the two were up to no good.

She was reacquainted with Sebastian on several occasions, who often engaged in a back and fourth over his land elsewhere with the Guard-Captain Aveline—who was not too pleased to hear that Astrid snuck past her guards into the city. She was a stoic and respectable person, someone that the mage was uncomfortable around after years on the run, and gave Astrid the same annoyed look she gave the pirate. Occasionally they were joined by Merrill, a Dalish elf and mage—perhaps the only other companion aside from her captain that she could completely relax around. The elf was a blunt reminder of when she herself was naive to the world around her, to Isabela's dirty jokes or when someone is being sarcastic. It was comforting in a way.

Anders was never around, at least not when she was there. Varric had mentioned he was a praised presence in Darktown, healing the sick and wounded. In other words, not the Anders she had known. She still couldn't forget the painful jolt of electricity she felt when he touched her, or the change in his eyes. It was evident there was something else besides his personality to have changed.

Perhaps the only companion she did not get along with was the one staring her down now. They had all gathered in Varric's room, gone through three games of Wicked Grace, and were enjoying an unusually good barrel of ale. He was sitting across from her, dark brows knitted together as he kept a close eye on her.

"Relax Broody," Varric called down the table, momentarily looking up from his and Isabela's work. "You two might have more in common than you think," he added, choosing his words very wisely.

'Broody'—normally known as Fenris—scoffed and carried his glare to the dwarf, "I would never have a thing in common with a mage."

"But you both have similar markings...don't you?" Merrill piped in, snuggling her cup between the palms of her hands.

"These are brands of lyrium forced into my flesh against my will," the elf was holding his arms out to exaggerate his point. "She bares the scars of the lives she took to keep her freedom as an apostate. They are _not_ the same."

Astrid, who had been mildly smiling through everyone's conversations, suddenly removed any emotion from her face—trying to ignore the cackle in her head. She fingered the smooth star-like scar on the palm of her hand and then cradled it. But they were the same. Painful. Forced. Hated. They were no different from the intricate white designs that covered Fenris's body. Astrid cringed thinking about that terrible night.

"Fenris is right," she spoke mildly, "the only similarity is they're both the doing of mages."

Abruptly, the mage stood and backed from the table. She stumbled from the room and through The Hanged Man until she was outside. She released the breath she had been holding through a shaky sigh and leaned against the building. It was hard not to remember the attack on Kinloch Hold, not with the scars across her body always there as a reminder and the voice in her head bringing it up every once in a while. Astrid sighed for a second time and fell to the ground with a heavy thump. The ale was finally making her dizzy.

She was here for the relic and the relic alone. Astrid was not here to join a merry band of companions or to enjoy herself; she came to Kirkwall to clear Isabela's name and return to a life at sea. So it didn't matter that Fenris despised her without reasoning, or that Varric's recent tales were about her ventures with Isabela—it didn't matter these people were calling her friend. The mage sighed loudly. These happy feelings of belonging were never good. The moment she lets her guard down is the moment she'll be found by that templar—who hopefully was still searching Seheron for her.

"Are you alright?"

The mage looked up from where she had buried her face in her arms, startled by the interruption of her thoughts. There stood a tall man, dressed in finery that did not belong in Lowtown, and a smirk that was overly friendly. Astrid gave him a wary stare. "I'm fine," she lied, forcing herself back on her feet and dusting off her pants, "just about to be on my way."

The stranger looked rather doubtful of her answer, but continued to smile. He went towards the door and saw her hesitate to move from her spot, "The ale's bad, but I find being surrounded by the drunken merriment inside cheers me right up." Astrid met his gaze and turned away, still indecisive. "Plus my friends are a fun bunch, why don't you join us?" he added, a broad smile spread across his handsome features. How could she say no?

"HAWKE!"

The entire tavern was up in cheers, swinging their drinks towards the door. Astrid stopped in her tracks, surprised. The man who entered with her continued his walk, taking the first flagon offered to him and downing it in seconds. They all cheered again and returned to their own merriment, greetings continuing as he paraded through The Hanged Man. So this was Hawke? The redhead felt misplaced. A man to her left tried to drunkenly serenade her, but Astrid shoved him back into his seat and followed Hawke—for he was heading for Varric's room. She listened as another round of shouts came as Hawke rounded the corner into Varric's private room and noticed his table was busy with another round of cards.

"Made a new friend!" Hawke exclaimed happily into the room, loosening a few buttons on the collar of his fancy attire, and throwing an arm around Astrid. She immediately stiffened, unfamiliar to such friendly gestures from strangers.

"Not so fast Hawke," Isabela sauntered to the man and wrapped herself around Astrid, "I found her first."

Varric was laughing in his chair, writing away in his journal—like he always did—and Astrid remained firmly at his doorway, stuck between a pirate and noble that were giving one another flirty looks. Varric clapped for Hawke's attention, "Hawke this is our new friend Astrid." The returned companion finally walked away from Astrid and in the bright room, the mage could make out the stranger more. He was a little rugged, with brick red hair cut short, a long nice nose, handsome with a scar along his chin—very 'noble' for someone to be hanging with this bunch. She watched him give her the once over.

"So you all know her," he paced, returned a flirty wink at Isabela and walked back to the head of the table. "I'd have been back sooner, but Mother wanted my help with petitioning the Viscount to get the estate back—" he drank from his new cup and smirked, "I'm happy to announce, a few months from now, the Amell estate will be ours again."

Hawke was expecting a hardy round of applause, instead he was met with faces of confoundedness and weak sighs of excitement. He turned to hear Astrid trying to break free from Isabela's grasp. Their dumbfounded leader gave them a look, "Did I say something wrong?" Everyone turned to Isabela, who shrugged and kept her arms strongly around her friend. "I'm sorry, am I missing something..." Hawke went on.

"That woman's last name is Amell," Fenris scoffed, sounding disappointed.

"How did I not see that," Varric added.

A moment of realization crossed his handsome features and he turned back to where the Astrid had finally broken free of Isabela, "Amell...is that true?"

Astrid could feel her heart drumming in her head, burning beneath the skin. How does he know that name? The mage began stumbling backwards from the room, hitting the wall behind her on the way down the hallway. She ignored Isabela calling after her, the strange looks of the men around her as she tried to make it out of the tavern, but everything had gone fuzzy—the voice in her head loud.

"Please wait." Hawke had followed her, hand grasping desperately at her arm as she tripped over her own two feet.

The redhead went rigid. "Do not touch me."

Hawke snapped his hand away, taken aback. "I'm sorry," he quickly said, voice oozing with sympathy. "If I've upset you—that wasn't my intention. I just...can we talk? It doesn't have to be here."

Astrid wasn't quite sure why she agreed to his request, but before she knew it, they had wandered into Hightown.

It was dark, save for the few torches still burning around the city. They had passed a few guardsmen on their way, but it remained rather quiet, a contrast to Lowtown's bustling nightlife. She followed in Hawke's footsteps, eyes darting to every nook and cranny of the city they passed. Years in Antiva had taught her shadows were an assassin's best friend when it came to the trade, and she had learned that first hand on too many occasions.

Eventually they stopped in front of an alcove covered in ivy and vines, a family crest hanging off one of the pillars framing the entrance. It appeared rather vacant. Hawke walked up to the crest, straightening it's presentation before turning on his heel to face Astrid. She wasn't too pleased with being dragged somewhere unfamiliar—despite her willingly following him—but it was better than the commotion they had left in the tavern. He walked back towards her and stood at her side, beaming at the building.

"This estate use to belong to the Amells, before my nug of an uncle gambled it away to slavers," he gritted his teeth as he spoke.

Astrid scoffed, "Charming."

"I lost my little sister to the Blight." The mage looked at Hawke's face and saw the pain contort his handsome features. "We were running, but it wasn't enough to save her. She won't admit it, but I know Mother blames me," he sighed quietly, trying to mask his own feeling of guilt. "When we came to Kirkwall, my brother—Carver—and I had to do mercenary work to buy our way into the city, but that wasn't enough either. This estate was my mother's home and it means everything to her." He paused to read her face through the dark, but Astrid had grown gifted at hiding any sort of emotion. "No doubt you heard about the expedition into the Deep Roads?"

"Vaguely, your friends tend to avoid any subject that includes Anders around me," she admitted, encouraging a chuckle from him.

"Ah yes, the infamous punch. Oh how I wish I was there," he laughed a little and continued. "I had to give my brother to the Grey Wardens." Suddenly he stood directly in front of Astrid. "I am all my mother has left, but if you are truly an Amell—I beg you, don't hide from it. This!" he waved at the estate behind him, "This will be my home again, it is where my family belongs—where you could belong too."

Astrid's gaze moved over his shoulder. Could she really have a family? All her life she had been without a parent or sibling, simply abandoned because of her _taint_ of magic. Isabela was her family in a sense, but she wasn't blood. Hawke was blood and he was offering her a place to belong. Coming to Kirkwall was proving more eventful than she had intended.

He saw the wariness in her face—the obvious hesitation. "It's a lot to take in isn't it?" Hawke asked, smiling at her faint nod. "It wasn't my intention to overwhelm you, but it was exciting to learn I might have family beyond Uncle Gamlen. And trust me, if you knew him you'd understand," her potential cousin jested, still unable to register just how Astrid was feeling.

"I don't know my parents," she spoke after a couple moment of silence, "They left me at a...circle." Astrid expected a reaction from the stranger, but he remained interested. "Does that not bother you?"

Hawke grinned and snapped his fingers, a mist of icy magic spiraled into the air and disappeared. "Can't say it does," he answered. "We'll get along just find Astrid, if you're willing," he encouraged.

For the first time in what felt like a century, Astrid felt her composed demeanor faltering and the voice in her head was completely snuffed. She turned away from Hawke to hide the glittering in her eyes. "I'm going to need some time, I'm not _just_ a mage," she admitted with her back to him, "there is more to my hesitation."

"Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone," Hawke replied hopefully.

She turned to look at him one last time, "I'm never alone."

Astrid then left him in Hightown and headed in her own direction, just as the voice of Envy chuckled knowingly in her head.


	5. Part Two

**Author`s Note: Whoo! Another chapter! I've just been so inspired lately, which hasn't happened in a very long time. I'm trying to keep Cullen a little more in character, versus how I wrote him in ADT, but we'll see how that goes. Please enjoy, and hopefully I'll be updating again real soon.**

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><p><em><strong>PART TWO<strong>_

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><p>Astrid decided to avoid the Hanged Man for a while.<p>

Isabel had no new leads on the Relic, and besides inquiring about potential work from the all-knowing dwarf, she saw no need to make an appearance to their nightly gatherings. If she was truly in need of drowning her sorrows with ale, the mage made the trek into The Red Lantern District. Tonight just happen to be one of those nights. There she was sure not to run into anyone needlessly. Plus, The Blooming Rose had a hearty selection of wines—one of the many things she missed back in Antiva.

She was sitting at a small round table to herself, tucked in a corner towards the entrance. From there she could see the coming and going of the brothel's patrons, and make a hasty escape if necessary. Astrid had only one bad experience at a brothel and that was back in Ferelden. Antiva was rich with them and she frequented them often with her captain. Ferelden's The Pearl was not classy nor a gem like the Rose, it was located by the docks where it catered to sailors and the occasional pirates. It was loud with drunkards and a shady man behind the bar. When Astrid had walked through the doors, she immediately wished she hadn't. A sigh subconsciously passed through her dry lips. She remembered that day quite vividly. Not because she was newly an apostate with not a clue of the world, but because it was the day when she had met Isabela.

Astrid had somehow miraculously made it to Denerim. Mathias had hidden a letter of instructions in the pouch of coins he had given her, which included a map and the suggestion she should visit the taverns to inquire about anyone sailing out. After a few stops, she had eventually ended up at The Pearl, tired and hungry. She ordered the cheapest drink from the bartender and rested her head against the bar, wondering what she would do when she got to Kirkwall. Would he be happy to see her? Astrid had asked herself that often—for she was the one who had him sent away. Her eyes grew wet and heavy just thinking about it. She was so exhausted.

"Why hello, you must be new," came an intruding voice. The stranger was leaning awfully close, ale faint on his breath. He was handsome and noble, from the way he dressed, but the devious intent in his eyes had her recoiling. He grabbed her before she could move away, holding her by the wrist. "No need to be shy," he whispered slyly, pulling down the hood of her robe. The man looked surprised but not discouraged. "I guess the face isn't whats important," he smirked tracing the scar on her left cheek. "So how much does Sanga have you at?"

She was immediately panicking. This could not be happening again. Astrid tried to escape, but he held her tightly. "Don't be afraid sweetheart, I promise you're in good hands," he continued, leaning in closer.

After weeks of hiding her magic, she was about to expose her secret. But then, suddenly she was saved. There was a loud thunk. Both Astrid and the stranger went wide-eyed at a curved sword that had come between them and was now impaled into the bar. The man backed away and sneered at the woman that now stood in front of her. "Sorry love, but she's already been accounted for," the woman flirted to the man, who was momentarily flustered before marching off. The woman laughed and pulled the sword free from the bar, "You alright?"

The woman had beautiful sun-kissed skin that was foreign to Astrid, and dark untamed hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a lot of gold, specifically a pair of large flat earrings and a piercing just below her bottom lip, and very little clothing. Very exotic to someone who had spent her entire life isolated. She chuckled again and tucked the sword into the sash tied at her waist, "You must be lost. You do know this is a whore house?"

"I did not," Astrid blushed and wrapped her cloak closer around her.

"Poor girl, that fool would have had his way if I wasn't here," the woman reminded her quite bluntly, "What brought you here in the first place?"

"I'm trying to find a ship out of Ferelden," Astrid had answered honestly.

The woman smirked, "Well, today is your lucky day."

She closed her eyes, reminiscing the first day of her new life aboard the Siren's Call. It had all ended so quickly.

Astrid was lifting her flagon of wine to her lips when she felt the shadow of a presence stand over her suddenly. The mage sat forward and cautiously tilted her head—annoyed—how many times would she have to explain she was not one of the workers. She looked up just enough so that her eyes remained hidden in the loose hood of her robe, her facial scar just barely peaking from the shadows. Ready to scare off another customer, Astrid opened her mouth to unleash one of her many quips, when she immediately fell tongue-tied. She almost didn't recognize him dressed so casually, but there was no mistaking those warm amber eyes. This was not how she intended their second meeting to commence.

"Excuse me miss, if I may ask you...a..few...questions," Cullen's words dissolved upon his own moment of recognition, and the quill he was holding fell to his feet. Astrid leaned over to retrieve it for him and unexpectedly bumped hands with him. "I, uh—sorry," he babbled and stood straight again. "Astrid," he addressed.

"Cullen," she answered.

The templar looked at her conflicted, and Astrid could see the flicker of his gaze change—from a man to a templar. "Is _this_ what your kind does to make a living on the run?" he snapped quietly, waving a hand towards a pair of scantily clad women gossiping about their patrons. Cullen's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed at her.

"Ah yes," she snarled sarcastically, "because I am the ideal image of beauty!" Astrid pulled her cowl down, exposing her scarred face to the light, and subconsciously running her finger against her chin—reminding him of the cut he had given her. She sank back in her chair, suddenly very uncomfortable, and threw down the rest of her drink. "Is that what you see now?" her voice was dripping with disgust, eyes distance as she reminded herself of unpleasant memories.

Their spat had drawn some attention that made Cullen uneasy, even more so than being in a brothel in the first place. "May we speak outside, or am I distracting you from your work," he answered.

_Would he be happy to see me?_ She remembered asking herself everyday for the last three years. And now she had her answer. Astrid was quickly on her feet, snatching a drink from the waitress Viveka's hand, and promptly throwing it in Cullen's face. She left plenty of coins behind on her table and dashed from The Blooming Rose, her heart racing painfully through her chest. The mage had barely made it towards the dwarves merchant's guild before he had caught up to her, grabbing her from behind. Astrid slapped his hand away and moved to do the same to his face, but Cullen had grown quicker in their years apart.

"I didn't realize being away from the circle had made you so uncivilized," he said to her, fighting her resistance.

Astrid scoffed, "Uncivilized?! I wasn't aware your becoming _Knight-Captain_ had made you such a despicable man!" His hold on her softened in surprise and she slipped away. "I would have never had you sent away if I had known!" she continued in a huff. For a moment the templar in Cullen vanished, replaced by the man she once knew—hurt and betrayal in his warm eyes. "Do you honestly believe I would just let anyone touch me after what happened," Astrid defended, wary to the confession she had let slip, and referencing her attack at Kinloch Hold. "I earn my coin honestly," her voice cracked and she refused to look him in the eye.

Cullen reached to comfort her, but she stepped away. "I don't care what you do," he was returning to his templar manners, "but you cannot do it here. If the Knight-Commander were to learn of you—" For a moment the word 'us' was on the tip of his tongue. "I cannot protect you from the templars here," Cullen regretfully informed her.

"And I don't need it," she said angrily. "I have protected myself from all ilk of men," Astrid admitted regretfully, suddenly realizing she had allowed their argument to distract her from where they were.

The mage looked around in a panic, ignoring the questioning look on Cullen's face. Only a couple nights ago, a pair of mercenaries had been sent after her. Curtesy of Ser Royce—whom clearly learned of her slip from Seheron. Astrid closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "If we are done," she spoke plainly, too tired for further emotion. "I can't be out in the open like this," she admitted, hand still tight on the hilt of her sword.

"Astrid—" Cullen tried, but she stopped him with her hand.

"I did not come to Kirkwall with the intentions of us ever becoming reacquainted." It stung more than she thought it would. Cullen looked wounded and Astrid felt she had slapped herself in the face. "I'm here to help a friend, and then I will be gone," she looked at him sadly, "To where, I have not the faintest clue, but it will be far and away from here."

He wanted to stop her as she walked away, but he couldn't find his words or move his feet. Cullen didn't want it to end like that, but she was gone and one with the darkness. So, he carried himself back to The Blooming Rose to continue his investigation, but instead ended up with a few rounds of ale. The empty parchment and quill he had with him ended up with another purpose as well—a letter back home to Knight-Commander Greagoir inquiring about his move to Kirkwall.


	6. Wicked Grace

**Author`s Note: So right now I'm trying to decide who I want the Inquisitor to be once I get to written that part of Amell's story, but it's proving to be tougher than I thought. Might ask for opinions in the ****next chapter, but for now enjoy.**

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><p><em><strong>WICKED GRACE<strong>_

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><p>The Wounded Coast was wet and cold most nights, but it was where Astrid found the most peace. She wouldn't risk another chance encounter with <em>that<em> templar, otherwise she would have sought solace at the Chantry—her usual go-to when she needed to clear her mind of Envy's never ending prodding. The voice was unusually loud and expressive after the spat with Cullen, mostly a mix of mocking "I told you so's" and laughter. All resulting in a rampaging headache that pounded with every footstep, every crashing wave, and finally was throbbing as fast as her heart was racing.

Astrid took an unorthodox path through the coast, a route she had scouted to be free of bandits and the occasional Tal-Vashot. It took her on a hike through the cliffs and the unruly vegetation, eventually to a secluded cove that looked towards the Waking Sea. There she was safe from the changing tide, dry unless it started to rain—which was on many, many occasions—and was isolated. It was the one place she could escape to. A frustrated sigh left her lips as she removed the weight of her sword from her waist, placing it on the usual flat stone towards the entrance of a very shallow cave that provided shelter. Since coming to Kirkwall, this has been home.

"Sooo..." came a sing-song voice, catching her entirely by surprise. The mage instinctively began the dive for her sword, but stopped short as she recognized the intruding prowler. "This is where my partner-in-crime is sulking," continued Isabela with a curious smirk, her gold jewelry sparkling with the last of the sunlight. It appeared her captain had been at the cove for a while, for Astrid's stash of food and drink had suddenly diminished in her absence. Isabela had forgotten her blue bandana, leaving her luxurious dark hair to billow in the sea air as she stood atop a rock and looked out into the sea. "Ah, I do miss the wind against my face," she reminisced, "I see why you're sulking here."

"I am not sulking," Astrid argued, trying to arrange her supplies back into the crate she had stolen from a nearby bandit camp.

Isabela chuckled, "You my friend are sulking. Should we go find you a handsome elf at the Rose?"

The mage stilled at the mention of the brothel, but was relieved the pirate was too busy going through Astrid's things to notice. "No," she snapped back, the drumming in her head still bothersome. "No elves," she reiterated to Isabela.

Her captain feigned a pout, "You're no fun tonight."

Astrid slumped down on a rock and cradled her head, she hadn't had head pains in so long. She'd forgotten just how unbearable they were—especially when shared with someone else. The mage knew what would satisfy the voice in her head, but she refused. It craved magic, but tricking the guardsmen weeks earlier was one too many uses of _that_ magic. She would have to bear it. With the little coin she had, Astrid could not afford the potions and poultices that might fix her ailment. Even if Cullen already thought so, she would not resort to _that_ work either for a little extra gold. She breathed out through grinding teeth, trying to focus on the spindleweed growing at her feet. Then it quite suddenly occurred to her, "How exactly did you find out I was here?"

Isabela was trying on one of her friend's robes when she turned around, filling up the bust more than Astrid ever could. The pirate smiled and began to undress to try on another. "Oh, I've always known you were here," she replied nonchalantly, "Varric and I followed you home one night." Astrid sat there staring, momentarily stunned and baffled. "You were distracted too, otherwise you would have noticed the bandits following you," she continued, stripping off the second mage robes and slipping back into her white tunic. "Surely all that rigorous training in the fun of stealth from me and Zevran didn't disappear over night," Isabela smirked, pulling her thigh high boots back on one at a time. "Come on sweetie." The pirate plopped herself beside Astrid and curled her arms around her, "You've done nothing but pout since you returned to me." She squeezed the mage and began petting her hair.

"Isabela," Astrid groaned. The pirate answered with a friendly hum. "We've talked about this—"

"I'm not gonna stop until you tell me what's wrong..." Isabela sang, continuing to stroke and displace her friend's red hair.

The mage—who was accustomed to a lonely friendless life—found comfort in Isabela, and finally softened her eyes. "It's _him_ Isabela," she bit her lip, breaking the skin, "I ran into him the first night I got here actually."

The pirate finally relented her coddling and saw the pain in her friend's face, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Astrid smiled sadly, cringing as she remembered the words she exchanged with him. "I don't want to talk about it, so please..." she paused and met the pirate's bright eyes, "I don't want to talk about my past."

"Of course not," Isabela flashed her motherly smile, and squeezed Astrid, "I'll just save your forbidden romance for my personal friend fiction."

"Your what—" the pirate patted her head to silence Astrid, and her lips curled into a sneaky smirk.

Isabela promptly jumped back on her feet and stretched, her jewels were now glittering in the moonlight and her eyes were closed. "You weren't sulking?" she reminded, glancing back at Astrid through the corner of her eye.

The mage's demeanor switched back, "I was not sulking."

"Good. Wicked Grace at the tavern tonight!"

Astrid didn't have a moment to complain. She was whisked away by a strong grip, barely reaching her sword in time. Isabela was mostly quiet until they reached the main path, happily skipping along and dragging the mage as she went. Then, as the city of Kirkwall came into view, the pirate began a flattering monologue about Hawke—who she referred to as Garrett. "He's almost as witty as me," she would say and chuckle. All this talk of him, reminded Astrid that he might be her cousin. But not wanting to feed her anxiety, she listened happily to the pirate's praise of Hawke. It was a nice change of pace from the other conversations she had been having. She learned that Isabela was rather fond of his 'fancy' hair and the man's capacity to drink as well as she did.

"And once during a strip version of the game, I think he was loosing on purpose," the Rivaini vixen grinned slyly. Astrid smiled too knowingly.

Lowtown was hauntingly quiet at night, as if the entire population had vanished. There was a whisper here and there from those lurking about, and the echoes from the quarry, but otherwise quiet. However, as every footfall brought the duo closer to The Hanged Man, the city grew a little more lively. A man staggered out the door as they walked up, intoxicated beyond his wit and winking feverishly at Isabela. She groaned and pushed Astrid ahead of her. There was a bard this time, playing a tune that brought memories of Antiva back. She would have stood there a moment longer to appreciate the music, but her captain pulled her along to the back room.

It was a small party this time. Varric was at the head of the table, sitting in his 'throne', having an amusing one-sided conversation with Aveline—who remained firm in not cracking a smile. Beside her was Fenris, shy of his usual spiky armor and waiting contently for the game to begin. No one had quite yet noticed their entrance, except for Hawke, who beamed admirably at Isabela. "'I'll be gone five minutes' she says," he quoted with a smirk, "That was an hour ago you know."

"I got lost," she lied and waved her hand to dismiss his point. "Besides, were you not the one bugging me to invite her back?"

The handsome mage attempted to argue, but no words would form.

Varric on the other hand was well versed, "Glad to have you back."

A faint hint of a smile crossed her face. It felt nice to be back.

They played through several games of Wicked Grace, with the occasional intermission between rounds to indulge in the piss-poor ale and mindless chatter. The rogues had won most of the rounds and were counting their winnings, while the less fortunate players mourned their empty pockets. Aveline was the first to retire. She gave a friendly goodbye to everyone, save for Isabela, and returned to the Viscount's Keep before her guardsmen's shifts changed. Fenris then left shortly after, surprising everyone by staying so long. The broody elf inquired about some tasks planned for the week from Hawke, and when he was satisfied with an answer, left for his mansion. Varric's room was dwindled down to the dwarf himself, Hawke collecting the cards with a half-asleep pirate leaning against his shoulder, and Astrid—who hadn't had this much fun in a long time.

"Let me ask you something, Hawke," Varric abruptly said through the silence that had settled over the table. He had his book out and had been scribbling away in it for a while. "You'll be rolling in Hightown soon. I'd expect anyone else to get complacent. But you...you must have plans," the dwarf asked from his 'throne'.

Hawke moved carefully back in his seat, not wanting to disturb Isabela, who was snoozing quietly against him. "No plans yet," he answered with a smile, dark eyes falling on his companion's sleeping face. "I'm just trying to look out for my mother." His voice was sad and distant this time.

"After everything that happened with Carver," Varric regretfully reminded his friend, "that's probably good thinking." He sank back into his chair and continued, "To be honest, I thought there might be a chance you'd want to go back to Ferelden now that things have calmed down. It's good to hear you're sticking around."

"What would I do without my trusty dwarf?" Hawke jested, placing the carefully collected deck of cards at the table's center, "I'd cry myself to sleep without you." The allies laughed together, and even Astrid found herself smiling. "Besides, last I heard, Lothering is long gone now," the mage said sadly.

Suddenly Astrid felt the dwarf's gaze on her, his brows knitted together as he spoke, "Isabela mentioned something about you fighting in the Blight, Amell."

She had been circling the rim of her drink during the conversation, only looking up at the sound of her surname. The mage wasn't seeing Varric and his ornate table, but was immediately sent back to the Battle of Denerim, all the fire and destruction, the bodies she had to step over and all the fear. The terror clung to the air as thick as fog that day, seductive and heart racing. The mere memories brought a thrilling chill that ran into her toes. Astrid forced herself back into the present, "I was there."

"Is that how you got your scars—" Hawke's voice went unusually high as he spoke the latter, and Isabela casually stirred awake beside him, brows narrowed in a wary gaze. He rubbed his thigh under the table and grimaced.

"No."

"Let's talk about how terrible at this game you are—" the pirate frantically tried to intervene, but failing.

For a moment it wasn't Astrid that stared back at them, face vacant of anything else but bitter detest and dark dead eyes. She moved unnaturally to her feet, rigid and awkward, as if she were fighting herself. "I was defiled and tortured by mages in my circle," her voice cut through the silence like a newly sharpened blade, "Goodnight."

The mage disappeared, and the men were given a rare glare from Isabela.


	7. Revelations

**Author`s Note: So this and the next chapter were originally one, but it just didn't work so now it's two chapters. Had fun writing this, although you'll see the writer of the letter is a little OCC, but I like to think he was a little fatherly towards both Cullen and Amell.**

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><p><em><strong>REVELATIONS<strong>_

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><p>Cullen was furiously raking his mind for clues—any memory that may point him in the right direction. He had managed to find the Apprentice Corridor, which wasn't too hard considering it was the first floor of Kinloch Hold. Where he needed to be was the central library, but the novice templar—shy of six months since officially graduating into the Order—was very lost. He had drawn himself a poorly sketched out map during his first tour of the tower, but was proving to be hardly effective now. Cullen scratched his head and tried to remember the floor he needed to be on.<p>

"Oh—Good morning Ser Cullen." The templar tried his best to hide his hand drawn map behind his back, half expecting it to be a fellow templar or initiate. Instead he found himself in the always welcomed presence of an apprentice: Astrid Amell.

They had been introduced upon his arrival to Kinloch Hold, her as both his guide and ward. The Knight-Commander praised her to be a 'model apprentice', which Cullen quickly came to understand himself. Astrid Amell was outcasted by her fellow mages for her unique understanding and loyalty to the templars. He understood she had been placed in the circle's care at birth, raised by the senior enchanters, and had but only one true friend. The templar learned they were of the same age and equally shy in the company of others, making their relationship as two young people in a strange and dangerous world strong from the beginning.

Astrid had striking red hair, dark, and loosely braided over her shoulder. Her skin was pale and radiant, contrasting with her dark eyes. It was momentarily distracting. She smiled sweetly and shyly at her warden, which flustered Cullen into making a better effort to hide his map. "Ah, M-miss Amell—" he stuttered, "It is good to see you—uh, it is a good morning."

"You may call me Astrid if you like Ser Cullen," she said, hugging a collection of books and tomes to her chest. "We will be acquainted for years to come..." Astrid was whispering, "friends do not need such formalities."

The apprentice sent Cullen's heart racing, and his face colored as hers did. "I-I don't think it very ap-appropriate for a templar to, uh, address a m-mage by her first name—" he nervously stammered, trying to refrain from hurting her feelings, but Astrid remained smiling through the rest of his spectacle. "Miss Amell is-is better suited for our relationship..." he saw it then, the dejection as her smile faltered for only a moment.

"Of course," she sadly agreed, all too familiar to the sentiment.

Cullen felt guilty. "Perhaps you-you could help me find my way?" he inquired with a sheepish grin.

"Are you lost?" Astrid responded, eyes wide.

"L-lost? Oh no, you are c-carrying a lot of books," he tried his best to lie, "If we are, uhm, going the s-same way—I could carry them for you!" Cullen blurted the last part, catching them both by surprise.

"Oh," she blushed, "I don't want to distract you from your duties—"

"Oh, you're not distracting."

Cullen and Astrid stilled, looking at one another.

"I mean, you are..." he tried to cover, waving his hands, "but...well you're not. I mean..." The apprentice's face was blushed, but she smiled brightly at him too and it instantly calmed Cullen's nerves. He had never spoke so clearly until he said, "You can talk to me anytime if you want."

After that he could only ever speak clearly with her, no babbling or stuttering like a fool...

The Knight-Captain sighed, he hadn't had that dream in a long time, and it had been some weeks since he last spoke to her—or rather argued with her. He often wondered if she was still in the city and where exactly, although it didn't bother him as much until he started thinking _who_ she might be with. Cullen knew better than to think Astrid was promiscuous, but after learning a mage was hiding within the workers at the brothel, the templar couldn't help but assume she might be doing the same. The truth was that the woman he once knew was not the Astrid Amell in Kirkwall. The Astrid he knew was loyal to the templars and never had intentions of leaving the circle. So what happened?

He pondered that question for the rest of the day, distracting him from patrol at the Gallows that eventually lead him in the direction of Viscount's Keep. Cullen was so involved in remembering his former life in Ferelden, he was completely oblivious to Ser Ruvena hastily approaching him. "Knight-Captain!" she called, stirring the distracted templar from his thoughts.

"Yes?" he answered, half aware of her presence. Ser Ruvena noticed her captain's distraction and waited for him to turn towards her. "Yes, what is it?" he repeated.

"You told me to immediately alert you if you were to receive a letter from your former circle Ser," she answered.

Cullen tried to mask the anticipation on his face, "Thank you, Ruvena. Carry on." He sent her away and watched as she disappeared.

Waiting back at the Gallows was a letter he had long waited for since Astrid had let slip her part in his relocation. _I__ would have never had you sent away if I had known. _He could still feel the venom in her words—the pain. Cullen stood, waiting on himself. Did he want to know the truth?

The Astrid he knew had always favored the templar presence in Kinloch Hold, was happy in the tower. However, the same woman had been dragged away by blood mages, demons, and templars—the very templars she entrusted with her loyalty now puppets to their dark magic. They tortured and took her, eradicating her faith in the Order and her own class. She was destroyed, and there was nothing Cullen could do, but even then, Astrid remained devoted to staying in the circle. So it mystified the templar that she was roaming free now, an apostate for years it would seem. Knight-Captain Cullen inhaled and braved the inevitable letter, leaving the courtyard that lead to the grand steps up to the Vicount's Keep and quickly leaving for his office back in the Gallows.

The letter was on his desk when he returned, the red wax seal of Kinloch Hold still fresh and embossed. It smelled faintly of Ferelden, wet and woodsy. Knight-Captain Cullen sat at his chair and stared at it for a long time, going over the potential scenarios in his head. Then after a long hesitation, he broke the seal and read Greagoir's letter with keen interest to what he would discover.

_I have long wondered when I might hear from you, and of this exact thing you ask of me. Allow me to be frank then in saying Miss Amell was the one who came to me about your relocation to Kirkwall. She was rather adamant about my intentions and what your decision was, and I felt obliged to tell her, for you were her guard. I told her you had wished to stay, but Miss Amell argued against it. She worried the ordeal you had suffered could not heal if you stayed and that your talents as a templar of The Order, as both I and your Knight-Commander have recognized, would go to waste in such a small circle as Kinloch Hold. I fear Amell was rather attached to you Cullen. She didn't ask me out of fear, for she had every reason to after her own terrible ordeal, but with complete admiration for your character. She only feared and worried on your account. I admit, these strong feelings of hers is what ultimately convinced me. I sometimes wonder if it was not out of love she begged me to send you to where you are now, but alas I will never know. Miss Amell is no longer with us._

The gut-wrenching letter continued, at last solving the mystery of Astrid's status as an apostate.

_I'm afraid to inform you that as of four years ago, Astrid Amell escaped the circle. At the time, both the First Enchanter and I were called away on important business and the circle was left in the charge of one Ser Royce. Since your leaving, Amell had risen to an enchanter. She was beloved by many of her students and was understandably protective of them in return. It is my understanding she was suspicious of Ser Royce from the beginning, suspicions later to be true. While Irving and I were away for sometime, Ser Royce was taking advantage of the young women in the circle and it was Amell who rose to action. I learned from one of Miss Amell's students that Ser Royce attempted to force himself upon her and in return, Amell used her magic on him, severely burning his face. Naturally a violent act would result in severe punishment, but under the circumstances, had I been there, I would have happily saluted the Enchanter's work._

_Unfortunately__ I was not. And with Ser Royce in charge, the templars were ordered to capture her and prepare her for the Rite of Tranquility. It must have been a terrible feeling, our model mage betrayed by the very templars she trusted so much. As I've already said though, she escaped. And not of her own doing. She was aided by Ser Mathias. A friend of yours I believe? And from what I am told, he had to drag her out of the circle and literally push her into the lake to ensure her escape. As it would be, Amell was not the only one privy to Ser Royce's slimy character. The templars who sided with Amell and Ser Mathias, imprisoned Ser Royce until I returned and was told what I've now told you. Ser Royce was dishonorably removed as a templar, and sadly, Ser Mathias has left The Order as well, blaming his bad leg._

_I do not know what more I could tell you. Miss Amell's whereabouts are unknown and her phylactery missing from Denerim. Wherever she might be, I hope it far happier than the last few years spent in Kinloch Hold. Although I do not condone her escape, I cannot blame her. The last time I spoke with Miss Amell was to inform her of your promotion to Knight-Captain, which brought a smile to her face. The first and last I __believe since the attack on her. I've known Miss Amell since she was just a babe, and never expected this would be her future when she was first brought to us._

_I hope I have answered any questions you might of had, your letter merely inquired about the decision to send you away, but because of the friendship you had with Amell, I thought you ought to know. I hope your luck continues in Kirkwall._

_Knight-Commander Greagoir_

Cullen sank back into his seat and buried his face into the palm of his hands. How could he ever believe Astrid would leave with such malicious intent? How could he call her uncivil and a whore? He knew her, but he barely knew himself anymore. The Knight-Captain read through the letter several times again, distraught over and over. She knew Greagoir was growing wary of their close relationship—she knew far worst could happen if they were discovered. So she sent him away. To protect him. That was Astrid Amell, always saving him.


	8. Sympathies

**_author's note: _Not much to say about this chapter, except that my idea of Astrid's robes is partially based on the Fugitive's Mantle from Da2, incase anyone is like me and needs a bit of a visual. Otherwise enjoy, this was originally part of the prior chapter, but decided to make it its own.**

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><p><em><strong>SYMPATHIES<strong>_

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><p>Coming from a meeting with Viscount Dumar himself, Hawke was happily taking the steps two at a time. Following behind was his 'trusty' dwarf and his surprisingly willing cousin. Of course, the latter two were not admitted into the Viscount's office and instead waited in the lobby, making fun of the nobles. They didn't bring the topic of her scars up again after that night in The Hanged Man, and Astrid was finally letting Hawke invite her around. She had aided in several fights against gangs that attacked at night, and in return her cousin didn't ask about the random mercenary attacks on her.<p>

"Mother is going to be very happy," Hawke exclaimed, beaming at the Viscount's letter he carried. They were heading to the Amell Estate, where Lady Leandra was already sprucing the mansion into a home. Astrid had yet to meet her and was becoming wary the closer they got. Her cousin noticed the hesitation in her step, for she was falling further behind. "You're welcome to stay with us Astrid," he suggested, but he knew the answer.

She stopped short of where Hightown's estates were aligned in all their regality and floral, unsure herself. "I think I'll go meet Isabela at The Hanged Man actually," Astrid was lying, fully intending to go to the coast and this Varric immediately hinted at.

"Really? I hear the weather at the Wounded Coast is nice this time of year," the dwarf smirked as he spoke, catching a narrowed look from the mage.

"There's always room for you here if you change your mind," Hawke answered, deciding not to pay attention to Varric's remark.

Astrid bid the duo farewell and made haste to her camp. There were two reasons why she remained at the Wounded Coast, the first being she hoped the Relic would wash ashore any day now, and secondly she could see who was coming into the city. That reason alone had saved her on many occasions now. It was becoming evident that the man hunting her down was no longer in Seheron, and his influence was strong yet. Astrid often wondered if Ser Royce had his bloody hands on her phylactery, but seeing that he hadn't come to Kirkwall directly, it was safe to assume he did not—at least not yet. The mage always regretted not going back for it, but that would have been a fool's errand. She would have never made it out of Denerim alive.

The sun was just setting as she stepped into the outskirts of Kirkwall, towards the storming coast. It was raining softly, welcomed weather after the last few seething nights. Astrid turned her face to the sky, allowing the rain to roll down her cheeks and over her closed eyelids. One of the few pleasures of being an apostate was enjoying nature up close and personal, not behind a barred window that her arm barely fit through. While aboard the Siren's Call, Astrid discovered her love of standing in the rain and the wind against her face. She had caught many colds from doing so, but every one of them was worth it. Her next desire from nature was snow, but not even Kirkwall's mountains were touched with such cold weather. The mage would have to wait for another time.

She had walked this path many times and every time it was vacant, but something was amiss this time. The overwhelming dread of being followed snapped her out of the moment. Astrid barely had a second to dodge the blade, tripping over her own two feet at the same time. She began the panic of crawling backwards as her attacker continued to grab at her. The fact he was only trying to injure her was immediately a bad sign. The mage kicked him in the chest as he lunged for her, hoping to knock him back. She rolled back on her feet and turned around with her own sword drawn, but froze in mid swing. The man never completed his fall and instead stood gurgling, blood spurting from his mouth, and a hand ghosting through his chest—the man's heart in its fist.

The fist was yanked back and the man collapsed with a bubbling of blood at his mouth, falling on his face. Astrid didn't hesitate on the body. She stepped back, ready for a more dangerous foe and fell still again.

"Venhedis," her savior hissed, glaring at her, "Do you know how long they were following you?"

Astrid saw more bodies and blood on the path she had just taken. How could she be so oblivious? Even more confounding was the man whom saved her: Fenris. He didn't appear at all pleased that he had to intervene and was still swearing angrily under his breath as he began searching the corpses. His snowy hair and tanned skin was spotted with blood, both dry and wet. Clearly the elf had some similar encounters earlier in his day. She watched him go from one body to the other, emptying their pockets and taking their coin. A few letters or notes were found and he read them all, tossing them in a ball of fury one after another. Fenris looked at her as he scavenged the man that attacked her, glaring still.

"This is no place for a woman to be strolling through alone," he voiced.

"Nor anyone else," she countered, putting her sword away, "May I ask what brings _you_ of all people out here?"

Fenris scoffed and stood back up, handing her a folded piece of paper. "They were after you," he went on to say, ignoring her question. Astrid took the note and read through it quickly, only a little relieved to learn they hadn't confirmed their findings with her hunter yet. It would only be a matter of time now. "Clearly they're not templars," the elf commented, very aware that she was a mage, "but they aren't the type that's been coming after Isabela either." He looked at her, suspicious as always, "these are highly skilled mercenaries." Fenris would know.

He turned towards the mage, fully prepared to berate her for potentially endangering everyone with her "mage problems". From the moment they had been made acquaintances, Fenris knew the woman would be an inconvenience. She was an apostate, and therefore already on his bad side, but now she was undoubtedly a fugitive of some kind. He wasn't about to let his friends be mystified by her. Fenris conjured a scowl as he lifted his head, but not a word could be said. When he looked at her, he saw the painfully familiar look of fear across her brow. It was almost like looking into a mirror. _Did_ he have something in common with this mage? The elf cleared his throat and looked away, instead inquiring about another matter. "Answer me this woman. I have no doubt of you being an apostate, but I have never once seen you use magic in these months I've known you. Why is that?"

Astrid was surprised by the subtle politeness in his voice and allowed herself to be distracted from the scribble in her hands. "I hate mages," she said plainly.

This caught Fenris by surprise and there was a fluctuation in his brood for a second, before it was replaced with curiosity. "You said those scars were given to you by mages..." he muttered, knowing the topic was made off-limits by a recent speech from Isabela, but for some reason he had to know.

"They were," she seethed, crumbling the letter in her grip.

He gazed at Astrid with mixed emotions and very confused of his opinion of her now. Averting his mossy green eye, he looked out into the distance. "I was looking for someone," Fenris said, answering her former question, "It appears as if they were only rumors though." He finally met her eyes, recognizing the fear glossed over them, "a while ago I decided to stop running from my former slave master—a mage." The elf paused and remembered his former life for a moment. "I do not know who you run from or why, but as long as you remain important to Hawke, I will aid you should more of these men appear."

The mage waited for his words to sink in, unsure how to respond to the sudden and obscure hospitality he offered. Fenris wasn't exactly a friend, and any sort of lesser relationship was nonexistent. Astrid pondered a moment longer then finally gave her reply. "What will you do when you find this mage?" she asked in all seriousness, finally shredding the letter to ribbons.

Fenris reported without hesitation, "I will kill him."

She held the pieces of paper to the wind and watched them blow away, "Me too." Her voice was cold and sharp, "I'll burn the other side of his face first."

After that, Astrid didn't feel like being alone, so she followed Fenris back into the city. They didn't say anything more to one another and parted ways once they reached the Gallows, but the mage knew she had acquired some sort of sympathy from him. She watched as he disappeared towards Lowtown, where everyone was probably already gathered for a game of cards at the tavern. It was a funny feeling she had, not wanting to be alone, yet not wanting to be with anyone. So, she resorted to sitting on the steps that lead further into the city and started worrying about Ser Royce.

_You do remember it wasn't a fire spell you used my dear?_

Astrid closed her eyes. She was so exhausted, she could almost see him. Envy and his always alluring smirk.

_Surely you'll want to do much worst once we see him..._

He was right. There were many horrendous things she wanted to inflict upon that man, revenge for all the apprentices he laid hands on, but that would be submitting to the demon. Envy immediately picked up on her thought and chuckled, not failing to remind her of her own undoing.

_We did make a deal my dear._

Envy made the last snide remark and then retired his pestering for the night.

"Why here," she whispered sadly, "Why tell me to come here Mathias?"


	9. Prime Suspect

**Author`s Note: So this is a super long chapter, I didn't even realize until I got to the end. I'm working my way towards the end of Act 2, from DA2, which is why this chapter is based on an important quest. Next chapter will introduce more of the plot, at least, that's the idea. Enjoy! **

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><p><em><strong>PRIME SUSPECT<strong>_

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><p>Astrid stood outside her cousin's estate—her life at the circle had not properly trained her in introductions. So she stood there, hesitating, with her hand hovering at the door. She had waited a few days before attempting to meet Hawke at his new home, being careful that her mood was in the right place to greet Lady Leandra. But courage was not with her today. The mage's hand sank back to her side and she began backpedaling from the courtyard, only to be abruptly bumped into. She turned heel and found herself back in the presence of Fenris, who—despite their recent understanding—continued to stare at her very crossly.<p>

He sighed and straightened his armor, "Will you be joining us today?"

Before Astrid could question what he meant, the door behind her opened and Hawke came walking out with Varric in toe. The mage's cousin met her with a smile, "Ah you're both here, good. Aveline has someone she would like us to have a chat with." Hawke didn't inquire about Astrid being at his doorstep and instead decided to include her in their outing.

They were heading for the Gallows, where they were to meet with a man they had aided in the disappearance of a woman a couple years earlier. Astrid curiously asked about the circumstances, and Varric was happy to oblige. In a storyteller's fashion, the dwarf told her of their search for one Ninette de Carrac, a minor noble woman married to an Orlesian man whose love of her had transformed into resentment since being wed. The woman apparently was having a lustrous affair with an elf at The Blooming Rose, shaming her husband. The other party to the investigation was a templar named Emeric, who compared the noble's sudden disappearance to that of one of his mages: Mharen. "Well, how did it end?" Astrid finally asked after Varric gave her one of his infamous pauses.

"Hawke entered a life or death battle, his staff broken to pieces, but he still single-handedly took down the desire demon and all her thralls—"

"_I_ was there dwarf," Fenris interrupted, "that is not how it happened."

Quietly listening from ahead, Hawke finally started laughing, "I don't know Fenris, that's exactly how I remember it."

Varric chuckled and continued, "After all the demons were dead, we found a bloody sack, and can you guess what was inside? A hand." He exaggerated the moment be stretching his arm out and wiggling his fingers.

"So...you never found the killer?" Astrid piped in, unsettled.

"No, we did not, but our templar friend hasn't let it go ever since," Varric answered.

As they entered the Gallows, the templar presence was stronger than usual—but not expected. More and more conflict was upsetting the balance of power in Kirkwall. It made Astrid uneasy being surrounded by the amount of unfamiliar faces, of which any one of them could be in the pocket of the man who was looking for her. Hawke immediately noticed his cousin's stride was falling behind and made the effort to stay close to her side as they sought out their informant, noting Fenris too stood at her side and that his brooding brow was scanning the Gallows. Hawke was curious of course, but bit his tongue and decided he would pester the elf later.

The group found Ser Emeric standing by himself. He was an older fellow, probably very handsome in his youth, and openly expressed a sigh of relief upon their arrival. Emeric was a man conflicted by his duties to the Order and to the women he believed were being stalked by a serial killer. He immediately went into detail about his latest investigation, but was disappointed with the outcome. The Knight-Commander had finally forced him to step away from the case, but the old man was determined to have a second chance at his suspect: Gascard DuPuis. According to Aveline, the guardsmen had already stormed the DuPuis mansion and left empty handed. Emeric, however, remained defiant that this man had something to do with the murders.

Hawke readily agreed to Emeric's request, and with sundown not for a few hours still, the group waited at The Hanged Man. Isabela was surprisingly missing from her usual place in the tavern, which worried Astrid and even garnered a fret from her cousin. However, Sebastian was there and properly informed them that the pirate left town to visit the recently opened hat shop. _Typical._ Astrid thought to herself—her captain was rather fond of hats. While in Antiva, the mage had her own collection of jewels and hats, but grew more and more fond of the leather there. It disgusted her at first—the smell—as did most things she was not use to, but it gradually grew on her. She could still smell the boots she had commissioned from the tanner if she thought hard enough.

Another thing to have grown on her was the terrible ale, which she was happily drank at her cousin's side at the moment. It felt good to be stationary for once. When she had joined Isabela's crew, the mage didn't expect she would travel beyond her destination of Kirkwall, but she was wrong.

From the beginning, Isabela had asked her only once where she truly wished to go, but Astrid couldn't bring herself to say it aloud—being an apostate was still a very unfamiliar lifestyle. She worked as the Siren's Call's cook and helped with the cleaning, chores she was accustomed to. Over time she earned the respect of the pirates and their captain, embracing her freedom for the first time. Eventually Isabela taught her the art of dueling—the captain's favorite past time—and Astrid was no longer just a mage. She could fight, knock a man out cold if she swung hard enough and had a knack for quick sword work. Even when her captain did discover the truth of her magic, she still retained the loyalty of the crew, and for that, Astrid owed Isabela her life.

She smiled absent-mindedly, remembering her adventures through Antiva, Rivain, Nevarra, Orlais—places she had only every read about back in the circle. Astrid always had Kirkwall on her mind, but could never bring herself to suggest the destination to Isabela. Even when the pirate asked her opinion, the mage would deflect the question with a wry smile, "Wherever you want to go." Her tanned companion would then wink and call orders to her men, standing where the wind blew through her dark hair and the sea splashed at her boots. Astrid at that moment knew she could be free as long as she had Isabela.

Soon the mage's reflecting was interrupted by a slight nudge from Fenris, lost in her thoughts, she had noticed it was well into dusk now. They left for Hightown as the moon rose into the sky, where the mansion was shrouded in shadows. Hawke asked Varric to use his "rogue magic" on the door, and after a moment they were inside. The vestibule was dark and unnaturally quiet, but there was magic at work in the DuPuis estate—Astrid could sense it on the air, almost choking, and crawling along her skin. "Do you feel that..." she whispered, seduced into stepping further into the mansion. Her cousin followed after her in an attempt to understand, but Hawke could not feel what she could. Astrid was very familiar with the magic in use, intimately familiar. The revelation however, was too late.

"Wait—" There was a wave of magic that burst into the room, followed by a sudden surge of demons. Astrid threw herself in front of her cousin, blocking a downward attack from a towering Shade. "Demons!" she hissed, shoving the shade away and giving herself room to swing her sword. The Shade shrieked as her blade cut through its middle, vanquishing it into black smoke. Hawke and everyone else jumped into the battle. Her cousin knocked the end of his staff into the ground, sending a wave of ice at the shades. Ferris charged in with his broad sword, cutting through the demons and Varric was making carefully aligned shots at a distance from his crossbow. Astrid attempted to swing again, but was becoming more unraveled the longer she surrounded herself in the estate's magic.

Finally she began to stumble, but was caught by Hawke before she could hit the floor. "Are you alright?" he looked at her in worry, brows together in a separate curiosity. The shades were dead, nothing left but a scattering of rugs and dissipating plumes of smoke.

Astrid pulled her arm away, "He's here."

"How can you be sure?" Hawke asked, curiosity waning into slight suspicion.

She ignored her cousin and was taking the stairs two at a time, "He has someone with him."

The group progressed through the estate, cutting down more demons, and fastly approaching the source of the magic. Astrid felt her fingers tingling as they took another staircase. She forced them into a fist and squeezed them tightly, trying to suppress the ache for magic. She had never craved the use for magic in so long. For mages, magic was as natural as breathing, and right now she was suffocating. Nonetheless, Astris steeled herself and continued through every doorway they came across. In one room she finally confirmed her suspicions when a stash of vials were found.

_Blood magic._

Envy reiterated her thoughts, reveling in her struggle.

The mage ignored him to the best of her ability and led on into the final room, halted by a sudden plea for help. A man stood over a beaten and battered woman, her face streamed with tears and dress stained with blood. Conversation had begun between Hawke and the man, but it was all a distant echo to Astrid. She looked at the woman, recognized her fear and her pain. At last the frustration she had been harboring, boiled into anger. "You're a blood mage," she scowled, interrupting the exchange between her cousin and the now outed mage.

"Yes," Gascard DuPuis stuttered, "I've used blood and lyrium to augment my powers."

A terrified outburst came from the girl, "He's lying—he hurt me!"

Astrid flashed Gascard a poisonous look.

"I explained this," he sighed, "I need your blood to track you down if he took you. It was for your own protection—" The girl recoiled as he kneeled to comfort and reassure her, then she shoved him with what little strength she had and ran from the room. The blood mage looked disappointed, but carefully recomposed himself as he returned to his feet. "She'll go to the guard, she's going to ruin everything."

"Your plans of killing her?" Astrid snapped, "then good."

"I know this looks bad, but I am not the killer. I'm looking for him, same as you," Gascard defended, but she was not swayed by the man's act and her fair share of words to cut him down came to mind. However, Astrid was beaten by her cousin to speak next.

Hawke asked the noble of his meaning and Gascard answered. He recanted his sister's murder, which was uncannily similar to the disappearances of both Ninette and Mharen. The victim is chosen when the killer sends the poor soul a bouquet of white lilies, something Astrid remembered from Varric's own story. If the victims are found, it is in pieces. "I intend to find him and bleed him out," Gascard finished, leering into the distance.

"That is no excuse to use blood magic on someone against their will."

Gascard turned to Astrid, matching her sharp look, hiding a smirk. "I intend to stay in Darktown, if you learn anything, you can find me there."

The blood mage began walking off and Astrid intended to intercept, she would not let let a man with such disregard for his actions walk away. However she was stopped. Hawke grabbed her arm and kept her in place. "We may need his help later," he answered her unspoken question, proving himself be a serious character when it was called for. Astrid slapped his hand away for the second time and remained firm in disagreeing with her cousin's decision. "Let's go inform Ser Emeric of our findings."

Unfortunately they would never speak to the templar again.

In their absence Ser Emeric had been fooled into what he believed was a meeting with Hawke, but was ultimately a blood mage cutting loose ends. They were too late in their coming to rescue him in Lowtown, and only after killing through the demons left behind did the group find the templar's lifeless body. Astrid's suspicions of the man they let go flared and she readied a quip at her cousin, but instead fell quiet. She had never seen him so defeated, face painted in guilt as he observed Emeric's bloodied remains. So she volunteered to go with Hawke to inform the templars instead, leaving Fenris and Varric to guard the body until it could be properly recovered.

The cousins returned to The Gallows for the third time that day, this time occupied by only a few man and women—a combination of both guardsmen and templars. Astrid naturally swept the area with a wary eye, eventually catching sight of someone she did not want to see, but appeared to be exactly whom Hawke was striding towards. Before she could say a word, they were in the presence of Cullen.

Hawke extended a hand to the templar, who had not noticed her just yet. "Ser Cullen, I'm afraid I have bad news," her cousin said politely. That's when he saw her and failed miserably to hide his recognition of her. Astrid's cousin passed a glance between the two. "This is my cousin, Astrid," he quickly introduced, completely oblivious to the fact that they knew each other.

Astrid saw Cullen's lips move, but intervened, "A pleasure ser." She noticed the hurt in his face, but did not understand why it was there.

It was a few seconds of Cullen struggling for a reply, before deciding to redirect his complete attention to her cousin. "You said something of bad news?"

"Yes, I am afraid Ser Emeric was been murdered in Lowtown. My friends right now are watching over the body until The Order can send someone to claim him."

The templar's demeanor was shaken and now he was truly focused on what Hawke had said. "Thank you, I must go inform the Knight-Commander immediately. Farewell."

She watched Cullen walk away and then she too tried to make a quick get away, but her cousin wasn't as ignorant as she had hoped. Hawke was grinning, suddenly remembering something from before. He waited until they were far away from The Gallows before he began the questioning. "Do you two know each other?"

Yes. "Of course not," Astrid plainly answered, attempting to mask that she was still bothered. Why did he look at her so hurt? Surely Cullen would understand that they could not admit their awareness of one another, especially not here.

"So those sad eyes were for my benefit?" Hawke bantered at her.

Astrid nearly tripped she stopped in her tracks so fast, looking to her cousin. "Was he really that hurt?"

Hawke reached to comfort his cousin, but instead hovered his hands awkwardly over her shoulders, recalling that the mage did not like to be touched. After a moment, he crossed his arms and played it off with a silly grin, "You know, before we met, he had mentioned you before." That got her attention, color rising to her cheeks as she tried to think what Cullen could have possibly said. "I of course forgot about it, but seeing you two just reminded me of it," he smirked, like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Would you like to know what he said?"

Yes. "It means nothing to me what that man has to say of me," she walked away ready to return to her piss poor camp at the coast, but her cousin ignored her.

"I knew an Amell once," he began quoting and again catching Astrid in her tracks. She wouldn't face him, but he knew she was listening. "She was a special woman, never met her like again." As he spoke, she could hear Cullen's voice replace Hawke's, and it pained her.

The mage touched her face and felt her fingers wet. She was crying. "G'night," she called back to her cousin in a shaky voice, escaping before he could recognize the state she was in.


	10. Assassins

**Author`s Note: Found myself in a writing mood, so here's another chapter. More Cullen in the next one.**

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><p><em><strong>ASSASSINS<strong>_

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><p>The mage did not leave the Wounded Coast for days—which ended up being a terrible mistake.<p>

Astrid had spent her time in a miserable stupor, unable to forget what Hawke had told her or the pain on Cullen's face. It consumed her and every moment she spent staring out into the sea, desperate for that eventual escape. First she needed to find the Relic, and second, she would need a ship to take her far away to Antiva. Lastly, she could never look back. True to what she told Cullen or whatever excuse she was giving herself to stay any longer, Astrid was here to save Isabela. To return the favor at last, no matter what the cost.

She sighed loudly, watching the last rays of daylight drown at the horizon and the stars sparkle between dark clouds. For once the coast was calm and she was breathing in the cool air, enjoying a night in her shallow cave for once. Astrid grew drowsy as she relaxed, rolling over to welcome her nightly visit to the Fade, even if it did mean having to endure Envy. The mage closed her eyes, but remained wide awake. Perhaps the only good decision that night.

Rocks and stones fell in front of the cave's mouth, a sure sign of movement from above. Astrid twisted herself awkwardly to see through the dark. She waited, assuming to see Isabela come skipping through her makeshift camp and drag her to the Hanged Man. Instead a man jumped into her cove from the ledge above her cave, soon followed by a second. Astrid used the noise to quickly give herself a more relaxing pose as she pressed herself against the cave wall. The men paraded around the clearing and dug through the things she had collected. They noticed her fire, which she had extinguished some time ago, but it would still be warm and enough evidence that this wasn't just another abandoned camp along the coast.

"Keep looking," she heard one order the other, not the accent she was expecting, meaning they were not Castillon's men.

She heard the clink of metal as they found her sword, which she had left propped outside her cave—and now regretted doing so. One man stood there holding her weapon in his fist, squinting into the darkness where she hid. Astrid didn't dare breathe. As long as her presence remained hidden, the men would be discouraged and continue their search elsewhere. It never did go as planned. The superior of the two kept her sword and waved at the other man, "Mage—I need light in here." Astrid's heart leapt into her throat. She only had a second to react as the mage came up to the man's side. The mage would have to go first.

Astrid curled her fingers around a rock, praying to the Maker that it was sharp. Just as the mage rounded in front of the other man, raising his hand to illuminate the cave with a spell, she made her move. Rushing forward, she tackled the mage and crashed him into the ground, purposely landing her knees against his chest. He gasped and choked, stunned enough to give Astrid a moment to kick the leader and knocking him back towards the cave. She felt the mage stir beneath her and reacted. Swinging her arm up for momentum, she brought the rock in her hand down and felt warm blood hit her face. The mage squirmed and clawed at his neck, trying to remove the crude weapon.

Now she had to make her escape.

The apostate scurried up the steep ledge, pulling herself up and rolling down the hill. Astrid could hear the man at he heels, hollering and attempting to follow in her footsteps. Her worry wavered for a moment, for he was just one man and she had plenty of experience running. She finally found her footing in the sand, gaining distance; and as the sky grew darker, Astrid knew it was only a matter of time until she could slip in the shadows. Breathing hard and already congratulating herself on a tasteful escape, she didn't hear the whistle of an arrow. It tore into her calf, throwing her into the ground. Astrid looked at the arrow's shaft sticking out of her leg and tried to ignore the pain. She forced herself back onto her feet and began to run again.

Two more arrows pierced her in the arm before Astrid realized she was outnumbered.

She crumbled to the ground, pushing an arrowhead further into her flesh as she fell on her wounded leg. Astrid failed to smother a cry of pain, a sign of weakness to her assailants. The apostate tried her feet again, knowing this didn't even touch her tolerance for pain, but was immediately met with one of her adversaries. He slashed at her with her own blade, catching her side as Astrid attempted to jump out of the way. Blood gushed from the open wound, over her fingers and pooling at her feet. She looked up, but could barely keep her head up. Aside from the amount of blood she was using, something was wrong. The assassin kicked her back into the ground, returning the favor, and pointed her sword down at her.

"Royce said you might be trouble." In that moment, any resilience Astrid had held onto was fleeing. The man recognized her fear and smirked at the power he finally had over her. "Says we have to bring you in alive," he knelt down in front of her, quivering in pride as she gasped in agony, "but said nothing about us having a little fun first."

Astrid's eyes grew dark and Envy was whispering in her ear, reminding her of the power at her fingertips—literally. She was nearly giving in, when her face was splashed with blood and an arrow protruded from the man's forehead. A shaky sigh came from her trembling lips and she collapsed on her back, not sure if the arrow came from a friend or foe. The apostate felt her vision blur as she looked up into the face of her rescuers, mind dizzy as she failed to comprehend the hands reaching for her. Astrid initially fought them, but there were tan hands on her face and so much gold reflecting in the moon. She coughed a grin, "Your hurting me."

Isabela's nails had begun to dig into her cheeks, leaving small crescents when the pirate finally pulled away. Her captain instinctively broke off an arrowhead from the arrow sticking out of Astrid's arm, earning a painful groan from the mage. She licked the bloody tip and immediately spat it back out, "They're poisoned!"

"Hawke and I got this," came Varric's voice, although distorted and distant, even though he was right beside her. Astrid felt her unwounded arm being carefully wrapped around broad shoulders as she fought to keep her balance. "Rivaini, you're the fastest—fetch Blondie," the dwarf continued, reloading his crossbow as Hawke broke away from the group and sent a wall of ice to block the rushing attackers. "Broody, take her to your place, we'll meet you there!" Varric called the later over his shoulder as he joined the brawl. Astrid was heaved closer to whomever carried her and back on her feet, but soon lost track of reality as she slipped into unconsciousness.

When she came to, her skin was uncomfortably cold and exposed. Astrid flinched at the feeling of someone's touch at the hem of her robe. She blinked awake and tried to move, hissing as she bumped the arrows still sticking out from her arm. "Don't move," came the sharp tenor of Fenris, who had strategically cut her robe to make it easier to remove. The apostate panicked and used her other arm to furiously claw his hands away.

"Don't—" she couldn't control her emotions, sobbing as she tried to muster a glare, "touch me."

No one can see the ugly beneath her robes, not this elf and not even herself. It was years into her voyage on the Siren's Call before Isabela was even aware she had scars beyond the ones on her face, and even though they peaked through the open button on her robe, that was all she was comfortable showing. Fenris gave her a stern look and continued to ignore her please, even as her fingers dug into his wrist. "I can't help you if I can't get to the wound," he argued, pushing her back down on the table he had cleared to put her on.

She ignored him and forced herself into a sitting position, sick from the pain that plagued her body. Astrid knew Fenris was right, the arrows couldn't be properly removed nor treated if she didn't remove her clothing. The apostate contemplated the situation, wondering if she could avoid exposing herself to anyone else of she just complied. A few minutes passed, and she reluctantly nodded in defeat, tears still streaming slowly down her sand covered face. "Fine," she solidified her answer, stilling as the elf continued his cuts into her robe, shredding her favorite article of clothing.

Piece after piece, more of Astrid's marred flesh was exposed to Fenris. The smooth white scars from the incident at Kinloch Hold stood faint against the newer scars, still healing and rigid on her smooth skin. It was hard to hide his shock. The elf traced each mark with his eyes, curiosity taking over. Skinny marks ran along the curve of her breasts, disappearing behind her bloodied breast-band; a large scar ran vertical along the length of her torso and into her navel; thicker scars from previous encounters with swords were found across her stomach and hip. He was sure there were more, but the lighting was bad and Astrid had collapsed on her back again. "Happy now?" she hissed, finding herself loosing sight again.

"Why would I be?" Fenris was surprised, almost disgusted with the suggestion.

Astrid grinned awkwardly through the suffering, "You were right, were not...the...same."

Fenris saw pale she was and wondered what was taking everyone so long, when he heard the mansion door slam open and Hawke's voice echo through the empty estate. Hawke and his companion's heavy foot falls came up the steps, and into the parlor. Anders was with them. "Astrid?" the healer whispered, immediately stepping up to examine her wounds. "You were right Isabela, she has been poisoned, but I think I can stop it," Anders called over his shoulder, already rolling up his sleeves and looking over the laceration at her side. "This isn't going to be easy—"

"But you _can_ help her?" Fenris interjected, glaring at the mage.

"Yes, I think so, you might actually be helpful," Anders snapped back, surprised when the elf just nodded and stood waiting for direction, "If everyone can just wait outside."

Hawke followed Varric and Isabela out into the foyer, and quietly closed the door behind him. The storyteller had sunk into the nearest chair, sighing and cradling his crossbow across his lap. Isabela was unusually nervous, fidgeting and pacing as they waited. Astrid's cousin glanced at the door. It was an act of the Maker that they had perfect timing in arriving when they did. For days they worried, or at least he had, especially after they way she had abruptly left so many nights ago. Isabela was confident her friend could handle herself, but watching the pirate nervously sitting down and standing back up, Hawke wondered if she was actually more aware of what had just happened then everyone else was.

"Isabela, love," he spoke softly to her, rubbing her shoulders, "What's going on?" The pirate looked conflicted at Hawke and hung her head. He gave her a comforting smile and tipped her chin to face him, "Please Isabela, I need to help her—whatever it is."

The captain looked at the closed door and back at her companion, nodding faintly. She then told them everything, hoping she hadn't just incurred the wounded's wrath.


	11. Wounds

**Author`s Note: This took way longer than I intended, but school like to interrupt my writing time. So two things. One, I'm considering re-writing 'A Dangerous Thing'. It would be a slow process, but that way I can go through and fix some of the continuity errors and lore errors. So please let me know what you think, I've already started the first chapter just incase and will probably post that on my tumblr first. So check there if you're interested. Second, I'm still deciding who my Inquisitor should be for when I start writing that part of Cullen/Amell's story. At the moment, I'm leaning towards a male Inquisitor, not sure which class yet, but has a crush/relationship with Amell at the beginning but eventually falls for Cassandra/Dorian. Or a female ****Inquisitor that has just started the beginnings of a romance with Cullen and has a rivalry with Amell, but whenever I think of that route I repeatedly make her the bad guy and alone, so I don't know yet. Let me know if you have an opinion on the matter, otherwise enjoy.**

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><p><em><strong>WOUNDS<strong>_

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><p><em>"How long has it been..."<em>

Astrid was in the Fade and she wasn't alone.

She was sprawled across a bed flooded with lavish pillows and silk sheets that slipped at her touch, just like the room she had back in Antiva. Undressed, her ivory skin with smooth and without a scar. Bottles of her favorite wine were scattered in the sheets, rolling silently away as she squirmed under Envy's touch. His icy fingers ran through her long hair, stroking strays from her brow, until finally tipping her chin to face him. She flashed him a glare then swatted his hand away, rolling onto her side to ignore the throaty chuckle that followed behind her. _"I'm sorry, should I take another form?" _Envy's voice changed as he whispered into her ear, becoming familiar as his hand continued to touch her naked body.

_"Is this better?" _Envy forced her to look at him and she grimaced. He was the splitting image of Cullen. A knowing, dark smirk stretched across his mouth and he leaned down to lick her lips. _"You still have poison in your body..." _he continued to speak in a teasing manner, not matching the person he was pretending to be. Envy caressed her body, moving down the length of her body with a single stroke of his tongue. _"Should I see if I can taste it...here..." _he pressed a finger between her thighs, but Astrid refused to give him the satisfaction of a moan.

Envy quickly retaliated. He hovered over her suddenly, pining both of her hands down as his yellow eyes bore into her. _"Why do you persist in fighting me, hmm?" _the demon inquired. _"I've offered to please you as him, yet you continue to refuse...and I can't help but be curious." _He laid himself against her, resting his head against her bare breasts, familiar warmth radiating from his body. Astrid remained still, but the demon could feel his persuasion beginning to break her down. Envy continued to kiss at her skin, leaving red marks as he tried to coax any vocals from her.

"Try as much as you please," Astrid finally spat, "but you'll never be him."

The demon laughed, throat vibrating against her skin. _"No, I'm not," _he growled and squeezed her thigh. _"But you can never have him again...so I'm providing you with a rare kindness...Astrid..." _he dug his nails into her hip, teasing himself against her and finally eliciting a response from the mage. It wasn't Cullen and it never would be, but Astrid knew Envy was carving away her resolve. She bit her lip as he moved and he smirked, _"We made a deal after all—"_

He abruptly clicked his tongue as Astrid found herself growing dizzy, sinking into the bed. Envy forced his mouth against hers, nipping at the mage's lip and drawing a stream of blood that dribbled down her chin. _"Times up..." _the demon lapped at her mouth, satisfied with her metallic taste. _"Someone knows your secret..."_

Astrid was awake the next second, and gasping in pain the next.

She hissed and collapsed back into the bed, now dull and noisy as the door flung open. The mage was surprised to see Fenris, who stared at her in surprise and then left the room. Astrid didn't have the patience to wonder what that was about and instead noticed the sling her right arm was in. She wiggled her fingers and moved her leg, relieved to know the poison hadn't paralyzed her limbs. Astrid looked down to see the layers of dressings wrapped around her waist, red standing bold against the white bandages. She realized someone had redressed her in an oversized tunic at some point, where the collar was wide enough to notice she wasn't wearing a breast-band if she leaned forward enough.

"Balls..." Astrid groaned as she tried to sit-up, careful not to open the wounds.

A moment after Fenris had left, the door opened and someone she only faintly remembered seeing before passing out was standing at the doorway. "You're finally awake," came his familiar voice, one she did not greet pleasantly. "You can scowl all you want, but I'm the healer in Hawke's ragtag group..." Anders brought a stool up to the side of the bed and sat down, "so you'll just have to deal with it."

Astrid frowned, "Did I at least break something?"

"No, nothing was broken—" Anders started, but she poked him between the eyes.

"I meant when I hit you," she said as a smirk crept on her face.

The mage returned a frown of his own, "You broke my nose." She wanted to laugh, but was immediately met with a stinging pain in her side and resolved to a dull chuckle as she sunk back into the full pillows. Anders was not as amused. "We should redress the bandages...please sit up some more," he was different from the mage she knew back at Kinloch Hold. He was gentle as he rolled her shirt up and began to peel back the dressing he made earlier, incinerating them with a flick of his wrist. Astrid couldn't help but be impressed at the improvement to his character, almost feeling guilty for greeting him with her fist.

"You aren't going to ask?" she finally piped up as he turned his attention to her arm.

Ander's gaze met hers and hardened, "About what? Why you left the circle...or—" He paused suddenly. "Or why you allowed yourself to be possessed by a demon?" The healer spoke just loud enough for her to hear incase of any ears pressed at the door. Astrid was immediately reminded of what Envy had said before she woke-up and shut up.

The mages remained quiet through the rest of the check-up. Anders was careful as he continued to gently tend to her wounds, carefully reapplying a poultice across her skin and maneuvering her arm back into the makeshift sling. He gave her a last once over and then stood up, but not before Astrid stopped him. "Anders..." she called as he reached the door, but she couldn't form any words and her eyes were growing heavy. "That was a sleep potion..." she groaned. He paused to give her a curt nod and opened the door, leaving her to stare through the sliver of night sky peeking through the curtains, just until she slipped into a peaceful slumber again.

She fell back asleep shortly after Ander's visit and was spared having to encounter Envy again in the Fade.

While she slept, Hawke finally returned after disappearing a few nights ago. No one was quite sure where he had gone off to, including Varric, who had tabs on everyone. But he wasn't alone. Hawke quietly stumbled into Fenris's mansion, covered in sand and scratches, but otherwise unbothered and walking tall. Fenris sat by the fire, flipping through a tattered book left behind in his former master's escape, and only looked up when he heard Hawke's heavy footfalls come into the room. The mansion's squatter rose to his feet quickly and fixated on the templar in toe, sending a careful look in his companion's direction. "Hawke..." he stood between them and doorway into the next room, "I don't think she—this is not a good idea."

"It's okay Fenris," Hawke boomed. He turned to his templar companion and gestured to the door, "Ser Cullen."

Hesitantly the elf moved aside and Cullen opened the door, the hinges creaking from dust and age as it swung wide enough for him to step through. This would be the second time the templar snuck up on the mage while she slept, head tilted just slightly as she laid on her back, lips parted as a soft breath passed through. He noticed the sling on her arm, the peek of bandages through the gap in the tunic's low collar, and the assortment of scrapes across her skin. Hawke refused to speak a word of what had happened to Astrid, but had said enough to have him follow the vigilante into Hightown. Cullen approached cautiously, worried that the slightest noise would wake her. He reached for her hand, feeling her skin for the first time in years as he stroked the star-shaped scar on her palm. His fingers fell back to his side tingling, nostalgia rushing through the templar.

"What happened—" Cullen started once he left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Hawke, however, was going to be asking the questions. "Ser Royce," he growled, blue eyes boring into the templar, matching the same frown the elf was giving him. "Do you know who he is?"

An evocative chill ran through the templar. Ser Royce... He recalled the letter he received from Kinloch Hold, the Knight-Commander's remorse over the circumstances of Astrid's escape. Cullen couldn't hide the realization cross his face and Hawke gave him a questioning look. "Ser Royce is—was—a templar at the circle in Ferelden," he answered after the silence lingered for a while. "I've been told he was a very ruthless templar that took advantage of the young women there..." he paused, "What does he have to do—"

"He's hunting my cousin," Hawke replied firmly, the crease in his brow growing deeper. "And I want to know why..."

Cullen was shocked. "I-I'm not sure why. I was already relocated by the time he got there,but—"

"But?" Fenris finally piped in, arms crossed tightly against his lean chest.

"Astrid...before she escaped the circle, he attacker her and she retaliated," the templar's eyes fell to his feet, "if she hadn't escaped, they would have performed the Rite of Tranquility on her."

Hawke continued to stare at Cullen, unsatisfied by his explanation. "What reason then would he have to hire mercenaries to hunt her down? It appears to be far more personal than simply standing up to him..."

He agreed, but couldn't provide the answer Hawke sought. Cullen was not there. The templar thought back on the letter again and sighed, "Mathias..." The other men raised a brow at him. Cullen ran a nervous hand back through his hair and gave them a sad look. "Mathias was there, he was a templar. However, he left the Order and I couldn't even begin to suggest where he might be now. Find him...and you might have your answers."

"Very well," Hawke sighed, defeated by the lack of resolve to the problem. "I will go see Varric now, he might be able to use his connections to find this Mathias. Fenris stay here with Astrid and Ser Cullen—" the templar looked up ready to aid in anyway, but Astrid's cousin shook his head. "Do not come back here." The templar opened his mouth to protest, but Hawke remained stead fast in his decision. "It will become suspicious if Kirkwall's Knight-Captain is sneaking away to Hightown every now and then," he answered, "I will not endanger her anymore than she already is, or have her hurt anymore either..." The former refugee headed for the door, but stopped to say one last thing. "I don't care what happened between you and her, but for her sake, it ends here."

The templar stood for a minute longer in Fenris's mansion, looking back one last time at the door separating him from Astrid. He then left as Hawke instructed, never to return again.


End file.
